Vampire Hunter D
by Rahndom
Summary: Sixteen year old half-ling Vampire Hunter Damian Wayne travels throughout the continent looking for the man who killed his father. On his way he will meet Timothy, a merman stranded on land and the two will strike a deal that will change their lives forever.
1. Beginning

Damian hated Europe.

Hated it with a passion that rivaled everything he had hated in his life - and yes, he was quite the disagreeable child during his youth - but the cold snow of Europe right now topped his lists of hatred with a passion he hadn't thought possible.

Well, maybe the snow was a close second.

First would have to be the disgusting hag who had greeted him on what seemed to be a Persian carpet that had seen better centuries even before Russia was an actual country while the stifling smokes of the incense burning by his side seemed to want to strangle him with its thick stench.

"I knew you would eventually come, child of the blood," the hag said, white, unseeing eyes rolling inside her eye sockets uselessly. "Just as your father before you did."

"Cut the chase, hag," Damian snapped, hand instantly going to his waist for his sword. He had been sitting there for an hour in complete silence, after all, and the forced aura of mysticism the room so eagerly tried to portray was getting on his nerves. "If you knew I was coming you obviously know what I want."

"Oh, yes," the woman hissed, cracked lips parting to reveal black, rotten teeth. "You seek the answers to the question. The guide to follow your path."

"Well?" Damian scowled. "I paid your gold, hag, give me what I've come for."

"My child," the hag tutted, spittle flowing freely. "I'm afraid my answer is not that simple."

Skeleton hands rose from stained robes to caress the ruses before the woman, each polished piece of onyx shinning against her sallow skin. One turn of the stone, two, three, and suddenly the unseeing eyes were turning towards Damian, a complete void of darkness swimming in them.

"There are two roads for you, child of the blood," she whispered. "Two roads for you to choose from. One will lead you to what you want while the other will take you to what you need. There is a difference, as you can tell, for they are not one and the same."

"I paid you for both," he snapped, hands curling around the hilt of his sword threateningly.

"The runes can only give you one, child of the blood," the hag said, shrugging bony shoulders. "For only one is the path you shall take."

"You are testing my patience, witch."

"If you wanted me to die, I would be dead by now, child," she replied. "Now make your choice for my time is far more limited than yours."

Damian wanted to stand and cut the witch's head off, he wanted to leap at her and strangle her until she revealed her secrets. He was sixteen, after all, and had spent the last ten years looking for this answer, looking for the way to avenge his father.

He wasn't ready to be patient with her.

He was a child still.

And she knew it.

He shook his head.

"Where to these two paths lead me?" he asked, eyes straying to the furred edges of his cloak. "Can you tell me that at least?"

The hag nodded.

"One will lead you to the one you so ardently seek," she said, her head swaying to the tune of a melody only she seemed able to hear. "The other will bring you your death."

Damian's cheeks colored.

"And, of course, you can't tell me which is which," he growled, valiantly ignoring the way his eyes seemed to dry at the possibilities.

The witch shook her head. Bristle hair falling into her eyes.

Damian closed his eyes, remembering his father's small, yet proud smile, the way he would hold him against his strong chest whenever he was afraid and breathe into his hair when he wanted to comfort him. The way his massive hands held his own as he taught him how to hold a sword, how to shoot an arrow.

His prideful stand as he told him the duties of the family he would one day inherit. How one day, Damian himself would take the mantle of the Head of the House of Wayne and protect those who could not protect themselves. Hunt the night-dwellers until nothing remained but their memories.

… The desperation on his voice as he told him to run, as he begged old Alfred to take him and never return.

'Go, Damian, save yourself!' he had said, face soaked in sweat and blood. 'I love you, son!'

Damian shook his head.

"Give me what I need before I cut your head off, wench," he hissed, forcing his voice pass the lump in his throat.

The witch smiled once again, all rotten teeth and whitened gums.

"You need to go to the Alexandrinsky, child, where the guide of your quest will await for you," she explained, gleeful. "He has been waiting for you for years, despite the fact he doesn't know it himself."

Damian scowled, lips pursed.

"The Theatre?" he asked. "How can I find just one person in an enormous theatre?"

"You will," she giggled. "Because the pull between both of your destinies is too strong."

He had left without another word, her cackles of mirth following him into the snowy streets.

And now here he was, eyeing the crowds entering the massive Alexandrinsky Theatre cautiously, looking for any sign of recognition, any sign of threat. Security was on its highest, that night, apparently, since the Tsarevich himself was in attendance of tonight's show.

Apparently the Tsarevich and his wife had been in attendance every night, from what he could pick up of the whispered rumors around him.

It would make moving unbothered with his sword still on his hip far more difficult than he imagined.

He threw his gold at the usher's face carelessly. Deciding he would have to play the bratty aristocrat if he wanted to be left alone and tried to stand as straight as possible, eyes narrowing in distaste, whenever he was approached, hoping the display of his presence would finally attract the guide he was supposed to meet.

No one, however, seemed to pay him any mind.

His scowl deepened when the lights disappeared and the signal for the public in general to take their places could be heard all over the cavernous building. He had no time to waste on frivolous entertainment, he was so close to the end of his quest he could almost taste the blood of his enemies in the back of his tongue.

If only his twice damned guide would make his appearance so he could leave this cursed place and the cursed country with its cursed weather behind.

Music started.

He took his seat in between two old me who eyed him carefully as he appeared.

His heart beat powerfully inside his chest when one of them tipped his hat at him in greeting, one pointed ear showing as he did so.

He nodded back.

"Can we move elsewhere?" he whispered at the old man, doing his best to appear nonchalant.

The man stared at him in curiosity.

"I'm afraid I paid handsomely for this spectacle," he said, his voice equally cultured, careful. "It would be a shame for me to abandon it."

Damian nodded, teeth immediately sinking into the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep his temper in check.

"Of course," he whispered. "My apologies."

The elf by his side nodded, eyes going back to the stage as dancers dressed in all colors of the rainbow seemed to be performing a welcoming ceremony for a goddess.

Damian rolled his eyes.

Trust an elf to get distracted by their own self-importance.

He sat back down on his seat, arms crossed over his chest to ward the cold off himself – how come this important theater had no heating? Weren't they cold? – and continued to stare at the stage in boredom.

Ten minutes of nonsensical dance and music later, Damian noticed all the audience sit straighter in their places, their eyes widening eagerly.

He blinked, confused as the music came to a halt, all dancers falling to their knees in reverence.

A slender figure was lowered from the ceiling on a bejeweled swing, flowing robes of pure white silk floating as it descended onto the stage, bare feet making no sound as the new dancer took its place – Damian's eyes squinted against the light – his place at the center of the so-called procession, hands stretched towards the other dancers magnanimously.

The theatre as a whole fell into an eerie silence.

The new dancer opened his pale lips, his small frame impossibly frail with such gesture.

Damian unconsciously held his breath.

The creature started to sing, it's powerfully melodious voice filling every single atom of the room, capturing the attention of all spectators and pulling them all into its power.

The elf by Damian's side, - whom, he would shamefully admit later, he had completely forgotten about – sighed.

"Such a shame, this," he whispered.

Damian turned to him.

"What do you mean, sir?" he asked, tilting his head in order to stop himself from turning back towards the singer.

"A child such as that, such gift misused for common human entertainment," the old elf shook his head, eyes glinting. "Kept by selfish humans as a toy for their amusement."

Damian's eyes widened, all facts clicking on his head.

"He's one of the merfolk then," he hissed, instantly turning back to stare at the boy. "He has human legs, however."

"Most likely an imposition by the selfish humans, child," the elf shrugged. "It is fortunate you came as well, we might need your expertise in order to free him."

"… free… him?" Damian scowled, confused.

The elf nodded, the glint in his old eyes intensifying.

"It is time we take a stance against the humans that oppress us," the old creature continued, reaching into his pocket absently. "We are not toy for their children, we are the makers of their nightmares."

With a sudden clenching of dread in his chest, Damian realized that the elf sitting in front of him was not, in fact, the so-called guide he had come to find, but one of those mad liberationists his father had warned him about, a crazed group of different creatures dedicated solely to destroy the control the human race had now of the globe and give it back to – what they believed – where its rightful owners.

He shivered.

And, of course, the elf had been able to smell the mixed inheritance Damian shamefully carried in his blood and decided he must be a new hopeful recruit.

The young man cursed under his breath, hand instantly going for his weapon.

Curse that monstrous witch and her ridiculous predictions. No wonder she had states a path would lead him to his death.

He had walked right into the middle of a political statement from a group of mixed insanity.

"Freedom to our brother of the oceans!" a woman screamed suddenly, her fanged mouth releasing a flame…

… straight towards the Tsarevich.

"Shit!" Damian cursed out loud, standing from his own seat as the guards around the stage burst into action as one, while everything fell into chaos. The old elf raised his hand with a war cry of 'Death to the tyrants!' and started manipulating the air itself into beheading as many from the audience as he had close and Damian could only duck as fast as he could to avoid such fate himself.

Blood and smoke mixed with the screams of those still alive enough to struggle for safety while the woman – a dragoness, a fucking dragoness in the middle of Saint Petersburg – started shifting forms to continue her rampage.

Bodies fell all around him.

Screams deafened his senses.

Dancers, guards, nobles and peasants alike trampled over eachother to reach the exits.

The merman still stood on stage, frozen in shock.

Damian cursed once again, torn between his duty as a protector of mankind and the instinct in his blood telling him to save himself, the conscience forced upon him by his father and the simple thought of: 'what would father do now' warring inside himself.

He jumped into the stage, grabbing the singer's pale hand in his own bronzed one and pulling with all his strength.

"Move!" he ordered, coughing smoke and blood and panic. "Come with me!"

The merman stared at him for a second, sea-blue eyes incomprehensive, before he wrapped thin arms around his neck and hid from the heat of the fire spreading around them.

Damian felt his resolve strengthen.

The majestic Alexandrinsky fell around them.


	2. Alliance

When Damian was finally able to open his eyes, it was morning. The pale light of the sun hit him straight in the face mockingly, as it provided absolutely no warmth for his aching body.

He felt cheated by its brilliance.

Slowly, he allowed his eyes to wander around the small room he found himself in, the pale white curtains and old furniture painting a stark picture of its inhabitants. He took a slow breath, trying to remain as silent as possible until he could determine how hostile his surroundings were.

"I know you are awake," a shadowed figure whispered from the dark kitchen. "I can hear you plot."

Damian's eyes widened for a second, before they narrowed. Every single muscle in his body tensing and preparing for an attack.

"Don't even think about it," the voice said again. "The furniture came with the flat and I'm in no mood to pay for it on top of my train when I leave."

"Who are you?" Damian demanded, sitting on the fluffy couch he had been resting on until then. "Why did you bring me here?"

From the shadows, sea-blue eyes stared into Damian's stormy ones, annoyance shinning clearly in their depths.

"Funny way you have to thank me for saving your life," was the shadow's reply. Bare feet slowly pulled the creature into the light. "Considering you and your little group of maniacs put us all in danger on the first place."

The merman said, scowling at Damian.

The young half-ling's eyes widened.

"Excuse me?" he scowled back. "I saved you from a falling building."

"Which, as I said, you and your whacky band of fanatics caused in the first place!" the merman argued, adjusting his fuzzy red robe as he walked towards the kettle hanging innocently over a few burning embers on the fireplace. "Now, not only you ruined my performance, you assholes ruined my cover before I had enough money to move."

Damian crossed his arm over his chest, the denial of his own involvement with any 'whacky band of fanatics' burning at the tip of his tongue when he actually realized what he had just heard.

"You weren't a prisoner?" he asked, raising an eyebrow when the merman snorted in his general direction.

"Me? A prisoner to the humans?" he asked. "Don't be silly. Humans don't slave creatures. Creatures slave other creatures and like to pretend otherwise for their own gain."

The merman sighed suddenly, pouring hot water into two beaten tin cups and slowly pushing one towards Damian and cradling the other one between his hands for warmth.

Damian took the cup hesitantly, eyeing the dried, crushed leaves swirling on the water and slowly tinting it a light yellow.

"Still, hiding as a major celebrity wasn't the cleverest move," he said, sniffing his cup.

"It is if you are a supposedly leg-less creature hiding in the middle of a ballet troupe," the other creature replied simply, carefully perching on the windowsill. "Or it was before you guys showed up."

Finally, Damian decided he had enough.

"Those were not my friends," he scoffed, hands so tight around his cup that they made the tin protest loudly. "I was at the theatre by accident and somehow got mixed in their mess."

The merman blinked, tilting his head to the side.

"What could a half-ling like you possibly be looking for in Alexandrika's? The whole place locked most of its magic away centuries ago when the humans appeared on the land."

Damian scowled.

"I came to visit the Yagga," he explained, idly wondering why he seemed so comfortable around the creature that not two minutes earlier he had considered a threat. "She told me to go to the theatre to find the guide that would lead my quest."

The merman eyes him for a second.

"Baba Yagga is seldom wrong," he murmured, taking a sip of from his cup. "Yet, you look well-travelled for your age. What would you need a guide for?"

Damian's eyes fell to his knees.

"It is not a place I need to go, but a man I have to find," he said softly. "I am searching for a man who moves among shadows and cloaks himself in secrecy. A man so feared, no one dares to even whisper his soiled name, much less reveal his location."

The merman blinked, hand instantly reaching to close the window.

"The Demon's Head?" he asked, instantly standing. "That is one hard to catch snake."

Damian's eyes widened.

"You know him."

The other creature shrugged.

"Everyone knows the Demon's Head, he's the most feared in the world and under," he whispered. "It was easy for me to assume you meant him."

"Yet you don't seem to fear him," Damian pointed out, his hand trembling. "Only members of the League of Shadows do not fear their Master's name."

The merman rolled his blue eyes, thin lips pursed in distaste.

"I spent a few months around the League when I first hit land," he said, shrugging. "But I decided not to join."

"And they let you leave like that?" Damian growled. "Who on all that is holy are you?"

The merman raised an eyebrow of his own.

"I'm the one called Timothy Drake," he introduced himself with a mock bow. "And yes, the White Ghost let me go when he realized I wasn't what they expected."

"And the Demon's Head agreed?" the half-ling snapped. "Unlikely."

"He was otherwise undisposed at the time."

Damian thought about it for a moment, his eyes narrowed. It was impossible that the Demon's Head had not found any use for a full grown merman with two functioning legs that could easily blend in on the human world. He had seen the merman's – Timothy's – powers in play not a few hours ago and the ability the other creature had to enchant large audiences with whispers only would have been priceless for Ra…

His eyes widened once more.

"You have been manipulating me," he hissed. "It is the reason why I feel so calm and eager to share my story with you, is it not?"

Timothy tilted his head again.

"I'm sorry?"

"Not two minutes ago I was prepared to slay you and run should you prove to be a threat and suddenly I'm drinking your tea and sitting in your house without so much as a precaution," the young man growled. "What did you do?"

Timothy sighed.

"If you must know I just waved a soothing spell around you the moment you woke up," he said simply. "It was just a precaution, if you were, indeed, a liberalist wanting to take me to your leaders."

"A soothing…" Damian gapped. "You will remove your spell at once."

Timothy blinked.

"I am doing so as we speak," he tried to explain. "It is not as easy as it looks without actually singing."

"Do it now."

"I can't rush this," Timothy insisted. "Your head would explode."

Damian snarled, hands clenching immediately around his sword. He had been taught as a child to never trust the merfolk, for they were tricky and always open for mischief. His father himself had told him of the dangers of the sea-dwellers and how to avoid them at any cost until he was sure he had enough immunity against their charm as possible, and even then to thread with caution in their presence.

He narrowed his eyes.

"I think you are one of grandfather's spies pretending to be helpless before me." he said, standing. "It would not be the first time."

Timothy took a step back.

"G-grandfather'?" he whispered.

"If you will not remove your curse, sea-witch," he hissed, stalking over to the window, lips pulled back in a snarl. "I shall do so myself."

"You really don't want to do that," Timothy whimpered, lips leaving a soft whine of pain when Damian's massive hands tightened around his neck. "You are going to regret this!"

"If it will rid me of your magic?" Damian said, the tip of his tongue caressing his fangs and trying himself not to shiver as he felt the merman's pulse quickening under his thumb. He hadn't done this since he was a babe and his father provided most of his nutrition himself and even then, the contact hadn't brought him the same amount of intimate satisfaction. "I do want this."

Timothy's eyes widened then, he took a great gulp of air, no doubt to try to fight off the half-ling, but Damian was determined not to fall prey to this witch's magic, so he moved as fast as he could. Closing his eyes in reverence for what was to come and instantly sinking his fangs into the soft skin of the merman's neck.

The warmth of Timothy's skin seemed to evaporate within seconds of their contact, his struggles gained strength and his lips parted to emit soft whimpers and whines, but Damian just couldn't stop.

Timothy's scent of sea air and foam filled his senses and his rapidly speeding pulse sang music into his sensitive ears so powerfully he even doubted any of the siren's songs would match its beauty. He sank his fangs further, breaking an artery pulsing sweetly against his lips and was finally greeted with the sweet ambrosia that was a merman's blood.

Damian's eyes instantly widened, hands reaching towards Timothy's shoulders to push him away at the same time his own legs seemed to propel him backwards and away from the disgusting creature.

He started coughing and hacking, doing his best to get rid of the foul taste that had filled his mouth.

"What on hell was that?" he snarled, eyes watering in disgust.

Timothy, who had fallen to his knees with Damian's haste to escape, narrowed his eyes at him, his hand covering the puncture wound on his neck while minuscule trickles of transparent liquid seemed to escape through his fingers.

"I told you!" he snapped, panting. "You were going to regret it!"

"What kind of sorcery is this?" Damian snapped back. "Your blood tastes of water and salt!"

"I'm a merman, you idiotic child!" Timothy finally roared, his lips parting to reveal row upon row of needle thin, razor sharp teeth. "The seawater runs in my veins."

Damian gapped.

Sea water?

"Not exactly what you were expecting, brat?" Tim complained. "This fucking hurts!"

"The books all said a mermaid's blood is pure delight," Damian complained back, trying to clean the taste off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That's a fairy tale, you idiot!" Timothy replied. "You can't possibly believe that…"

The merman stopped just in time as Damian's eyes threatened to pop out of his sockets in shock.

Because right before him, the beautiful human-like creature he had been staring at before seemed to shimmer and twist like a mirage in the desert, his delicately small human ears disappeared in favor of small, white and green fins and the wound on the creature's neck was now a gapping hole on his… gills.

He stood still in shock.

Timothy observed him for a second before his own eyes filled with understanding, his lips curled mockingly displaying his dangerous teeth.

"Great, you wanted immunity against my charms?" he mocked, his fingers touching the fins on his face and the one poking curiously from the top of his head. "There you go, you are now completely immune to my magic, you brat."

"All this time you were…"

"I was waving a glamour, yes," Timothy snapped, standing. "You really think I would be able to blend in so much without it? Look at me!"

Damian followed him with his eyes as the still hissing merman rummaged through a set of baskets for bandages for his injured gills. He knew his knowledge of the merfolk was somewhat limited, having dedicated most of his time to his quest to avenge his beloved father, but even he knew that mermen usually didn't have the need for glamour.

"Can't you shape-shift?" he asked then, confused. "I thought all merfolk could."

Tim's hands which had, until then, being wrapping a thin cloth over his neck, stilled.

Sea-blue eyes turned to him.

"We can shape-shift, yes," he admitted finally.

"Then why can't you?" Damian insisted. "You already heard my story, merman, you pulled it out of me without my consent, I deserve at least your honesty now that we are in common ground."

Timothy's shoulders slumped then, is eyes falling instantly to the carpet.

"I guess you are correct," he sighed, once again walking towards him to kneel by his side. "But you must promise on what you hold most dear that you will never use this information against me."

Damian stared, shocked.

"Only if you promise to do the same over what you know of me," he requested, feeling more centered now that he was finally gaining his dignity back.

Timothy laughed hollowly.

"You have my blood inside of you," he whispered. "There is nothing I can do to harm you."

"Then I promise on my house and my name that I shall protect your secret," Damian whispered, eyes full of determination.

Timothy sighed again, the fin on his head flapping uselessly.

"Merfolk can indeed shape-shift at will, from our original form to human and then back without so much of a hassle," he whispered, hands still holding the bandages to his neck. "And yes, before you asks, our blood is a delicious morsel for vampires. We even set trade agreements based on such exchanges four centuries ago."

"Then why…" Damian hesitated.

"It's because I have no heart," Timothy replied. "When a merfolk wants to dwell in land, his or her core turns into a beautiful pearl that hangs from their necks as they do their business, it also allows them to go back to the oceans once their deeds are done."

Damian's eyes fell towards Timothy's neck.

It was bare.

"Twenty years ago mine was stolen by a human," he whispered. "And my curse began."

"Curse?" Damian asked.

Tim nodded.

"The Father Sea does not take it well when one of his children loses his precious gift," he said then, fingers caressing his collarbone, most likely where his pearl used to hang. "Our bodies turn into sea water, most of our abilities are taken from us. The Father Sea curses us to never return home or fear his punishment."

"So you are basically stranded in the human world," Damian whispered, blinking.

Tim nodded again.

"And the human who took your pearl?" the hunter asked, frowning. "Haven't you been able to find them?"

"It's not that easy," the merman argued. "That pearl is my heart and soul, half-ling. Whoever carries it is the owner of my self."

Damian thought about it, thought about not being able to return home because of the cruelty and greed of others, because those you considered most dear were unreachable to you.

He guessed they weren't so different after all.

And suddenly, he was struck with an idea.

"Help me avenge my father," he said, hands grasping Timothy's. "And I shall return your pearl to you."

Timothy's eyes widened.

"What?"

"You know the hideouts of The League of Shadows, so you can enter them again and help me get the information I need," Damian reasoned. "Among the way it is quite likely we will come across whispers of your pearl, for it won't look like an ordinary one."

Tim nodded, confusion clear in his face.

"So travel with me, help me, and I in return will help you," the hunter promised, lips pursed. "I am immune to your magic, so finding your pearl will be easier and you are well versed in the way of the League and can extract the information I need."

Timothy pursed his own lips, frown marring his brow.

"If you get your revenge before we find my pearl," he whispered.

"I shall accompany you until we do so and then free you to your homeland," Damian promised.

"And if we find my heart before you achieve your goal?"

"All I ask is that you accompany me until the location of my enemy is secured, and then you will be free to go," he swore.

Timothy lowered his face, hope and doubt clearly warring in his eyes.

"I want a drop of your blood to seal our deal," he said suddenly. "So even if we are separated I can feel where you are."

Damian sighed.

"A wise precaution," he had to admit.

With careful hands he reached for his sword, pulling it from his waist and resting the tip against his palm, not even making a sound when the blade pierced his skin and the scent of his own blood filled the room.

Once he had enough, he locked his gaze with Timothy's making sure the merman could see his determination, and placed a single drop of his blood in the very heaving collarbone where Tim could still feel its hollowness.

Timothy gasped, his cheeks coloring a pale pink as the drop hardened into a small ruby and clung to his skin where his pearl once stood.

"Until your pearl is retrieved," Damian said, feeling embarrassed.

Timothy smiled, all teeth and ocean mischief.

"Until your father is avenged," he promised back.


	3. Pet

It was an enlightening experience, to travel with Timothy.

He was a charmer through and through. Seldomly showing both humans and other creatures the fiery disposition he had shown Damian on that first meeting of theirs. He spoke in whispers, smiled at everyone that wanted to gather his attention and cashed favors from everyone around them that he had been saving over the years. Everyone was genuinely pleased to see him but, curiously enough, even more pleased to see him off.

No one actually wanted Timothy in Russia, it seemed.

Damian had to admit that Timothy was a rather quiet creature considering their earlier discussions.

"The glamour can't hide my mouth," Timothy had explained after Damian couldn't hold his curiosity any longer and just has to ask. "I am aware I am not the most pleasing by human standards, and if you want me to keep my profile low I'd rather keep my mouth shut."

Damian had nodded his agreement, knowing Timothy's razor teeth would be impossible to hide among a crowd, should he decide he needed to use his particular talents, but he also had felt the quite illogical need to tell the merman that no, he was not, in fact, a horrible creature as he seemed to believe and that the greenish tint of his skin was rather fetching in the morning sun.

Of course he had shaken his head to clear it off such foolish notions and continued to wrap Timothy's cold body in furs in hope that the water that ran through his veins did not freeze in the winter cold and hurt him.

He needed the merman to find his enemy.

He owed it all to his father.

In Moscow they had met with another creature, a dwarf who had greeted Timothy warmly and Damian with mistrust. Another exiled from his own clan, he had told them, and quite aware of Timothy's unfortunate run-in with the Libertarians.

Timothy had nodded wisely, eyes fond, before kissing the dwarf´s forehead and thanking him for the food he was giving them.

"You are too trusting," Damian had snapped, irrationally upset.

"You are too cautious," the merman had replied, steps light and noiseless on the snow.

"You, half-ling," the dwarf had called as they were about to leave with their provisions. Damian had glared, using his height to feel superior to the older creature. "Aren't you going to get a horse? A carriage?"

Damian raised an eyebrow at the creature's daring.

"It is better if you are not aware of our travelling methods," he replied, a sneer curling his lips.

The dwarf growled.

"I can find a good deal for you two, a strong horse, built for this climate," he insisted. "It will take you over the mountains in a day."

Damian's eyes had narrowed.

"We will travel by foot," he stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "The least attention we gather the better."

The dwarf's eyes had widened, an irate protest at the tip of his tongue, it seemed, before he was interrupted by Timothy's soft chuckles from the outside of his store.

Both, dwarf and half-ling turned to stare as the merman idly caressed a human man's chin, long fingers making the man's skin prickle.

"So, up north, huh?" he whispered, his voice humming and melodious. The dwarf instantly reached to cover his hears with his massive hands while Damian simply rolled his eyes, staring in awe as his merman companion finally worked his magic as he had promised.

The human nodded, the doppiest smile Damian had ever seen on his stupidly mortal face.

"Anyone who goes near the pagan temple disappears and there's the moaning of the devil there," the human said eagerly. "Not one god-fearing man should go near such a horrible place."

"Then it's a good thing I don't fear god, isn't it?" Tim said absently, his finger now running over the bridge of the human's nose.

"Oh god all merciful," the human moaned, his eyes losing focus.

Damian rolled his own eyes, approaching Timothy and his prey.

"Well?" he asked.

Timothy smiled his usual small smile at him.

"Apparently a lot of good Christians are disappearing in Sweden," he explained. "Their bodies appear mangled in the morning, most missing parts, never the same part of course. The humans are weary."

"Sweden," Damian frowned.

"It is, of course, one of the most magical places there is," Timothy said wisely. "If I were to wage my fins on it, I would say Uppsala is the perfect place for us to start."

Damian nodded his head, warm determination filling his insides.

"You can't go to Uppsala on foot!" the dwarf protested, approaching them. "Give me ten minutes and I'll get you a horse! On discount."

"I already told you we do not need your beast, dwarf," Damian growled. "Keep your business for you will not get more of my gold."

The dwarf's face colored with indignation, his eyes a light in fury.

Timothy had placed a small hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you anyways, my friend," he had whispered. "But we will walk."

"But…" the dwarf tried to protest.

"But nothing," Timothy interrupted. "Please take care of my new human? I'm sure he'll be disoriented in a few hours."

Damian eyed the dwarf, the way his enormous hands clenched and unclenched, a real conflict clear on his face.

He finally nodded.

"You owe me for this, child," he said, huffing in Damian's general direction and dragging the human by the hand into his store. Timothy waved gratefully at the older creature, a pleased smile on his face.

"To Sweden?" he asked as he turned to smile at Damian.

"To Sweden," Damian confirmed, shouldering the bag of provisions the meddlesome dwarf had sold them and starting to walk. Timothy's soft footsteps not far behind him.

It took them a whole month to get to Sweden itself, and yes, Damian knew that had he accepted the dwarf's proposal they would have made a better time. But to care for a horse was something distracting in ways he could not allow himself to be distracted. The biting cold of the tundra had already chipped away some of his self-control and if it wasn't for Timothy's quiet presence he was sure he would have snapped already in the white desert.

And yes, that was, he had to admit, another thing he had learned to admire and envy from his travelling companion.

No matter where they were, what they were doing or the time of the day, Timothy was never cold. Damian could feel his fingers freezing into his gloves and Tim would just stare at him, as comfortable as he had been in his flat in Saint Petersburg. He had often wanted to ask what was the merman's secret, but knew he wouldn't have been able to hear Timothy's soft reply over the howling of the wind.

Finally, they reached the slopped hills of the Old Uppsala capital, where the underground temple still laid as it had for centuries, cared for by the creatures in the area and the humans who could still remember the Dead God's name.

It was an impressive sight indeed.

"The ground itself is thrumming with magic," Damian whispered, blinking.

"It feels so weird," Tim whispered back, hand instantly reaching for the snow bellow them.

Damian caught his wrist in his hand.

"Do not presume, Timothy," he warned, eyes narrowed. "This is literally the temple of pure Baldr and you and I are foreigners to this cult."

Timothy nodded, straightening.

"So is the League," he said, a small smile on his face, his fins flapping eagerly on his head. "I do not believe Pure Baldr would appreciate whatever they are doing?"

Damian smirked back at his companion.

"True."

With precision born out of years of ruthless education, Damian removed his boots and socks, his skin sending shards of agonizing pain as his skin made contact with the icy ground.

"We humbly request your protection, Pure Baldr," he whispered into the wind. "For we will clean the stains of your holy ground."

The wind messed with Damian's hair, ice shrapnel pierced his skin and drew his blood to the surface.

Timothy whispered his name, confused.

Yet he remained still.

Two minutes was all it took for his vision to blur, for his knees to start burning, and his eyes to water.

Three minutes in and everything stops. A warm breeze blew over him and his whole body felt a relief that he hadn't felt in years. Tim's cool hands were holding onto his arm and his bright blue eyes pierced into his own with concern.

"Damian?" he whispered. "Are you okay?"

Damian looked into Timothy's eyes.

"I believe we have been allowed a blessed entrance into the temples," he whispered back, pulling himself taunt with excited tension of the incoming battle.

Timothy sighed.

"Stupid, stupid half-ling," he snapped, whacking his hand against Damian's shoulder. "I need you alive if I ever want to return home, remember?"

Damian's lips curled.

"Of course."

"You are hereby forbidden from extenuous physical activity until further notice, you hear? If you freeze no one will help me and then I'll be worse than when I started," the merman continued to scold as he grabbed Damian's hand and gently pulled him towards the altar, his fingers trembling and lips pursed down into a frown. "It wasn't funny and I will not tolerate it again, you hear?"

"The place will be filled with ninja, if our suppositions are correct," Damian tried to argue, doing his best to keep his stern frown on his face. Timothy's obvious concern for his safety – no matter the reason – were warming in ways not even Pure Baldr's blessing could be.

Stupid Sea-Monster and his small cold hands.

"I will deal with them for now, it's what you brought me here for, right?" Timothy snapped back, his mouth pulling lightly in amusement. "It's been such a long time since I hunted."

"If you get killed you are of no use to me," Damian scowled, his free hand reaching for his sword.

"Aw, five minutes? If I can't do it you jump in to be all rough and hunter-y," Tim tried to bargain back, eyes light with excitement.

Damian stopped, staring at him for a moment.

"Five minutes it is," he admitted, internally cursing himself for his almost uncontrollable bout of curiosity. For it could only be curiosity that forced him to sit on the snow, hands deep in his pockets, while he watched Timothy prepare for his own hunt.

A most curious sight indeed.

"You might want to cover yourself," Timothy advised him as he traced a circle in the snow. "My hunting style is particularly messy."

"Just hurry up, I'm cold," Damian growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah yeah," Timothy laughed, wrapping his scarf over his hair and twirling in place twice, clearing his throat musically.

Damian rolled his eyes.

"Oh, hello?" Tim finally called, cupping his hands around his mouth to increase the echo of his voice. "Is anyone there?"

It only took a minute for three black-clad figures to emerge from the shadows, guns at the ready and blood-red eyes narrowed tightly.

Damian rolled his eyes at his grandfather's dramatics.

Timothy feigned a completely shocked look.

"Oh," he said simply. "Thank god all merciful you all are here, there's no more of you in there right? Is that why you came armed instead?"

The League's ninja shared a look among themselves, caution pouring out of their very pore.

Tim smirked, finally revealing his teeth to their enemy.

"I'm gonna go on a limb and say your master is not here, or her would be at the door himself," he mused out loud, twirling a strand of his midnight black hair between his fingers. "But I'm going to guess one of you knows where he is."

The ninja took a collective step back.

Timothy rolled his eyes.

"So dramatic," he mumbled.

As one, the ninja burst into action, guns glinting under the morning sun, movements unobstructed despite of the cold, blades flying into the air with the precision of a true assassin.

Timothy simply rolled his shoulders back, opened his lips.

And sang.

… all movement stopped.

"Where is he," he hummed, twirling in place to evade blades as they fell from limp fingers. "Where is he hidden. Tell me now where you are keeping him."

One ninja had the audacity to shake his head, eyes wide and sweat soaking his face.

Another nodded in place, body going limp on the snow.

Tim smirked at them.

"Come on, my precious, just a words is what I want," he continued his song, arms stretched forward in such an open, welcoming gesture, that the third ninja fell to his knees.

"T…" one of the ninja muttered, blood pouring from his nose. "Th-e… dungeon, he's in the dungeon."

Tim laughed, the sound loud and harmonious like bells.

All three enemies fell then, reverent smiles on their faces.

"Thank you, you all," he said with a smile. "I wish this meeting was not as brief."

The usually calm, small smile Timothy always ported turned wide and manic, his teeth shining ivory under the sun, his lips parted, his tongue peeked out to moisten his thin mouth.

And suddenly the highest shriek Damian had ever heard filled the air with its shrillness.

He knew, intellectually that such a pitch should have brought pain to his sensitive hearing, that the sound would easily be heard over the whole temple and even the human village to some extent, he knew something was protecting him from the magic Timothy was weaving.

He couldn't stop staring as Tim raised his hands high into the air and the heads of the ninja before him exploded into a shower of ruby red jewels.

"Messy indeed," he managed to whisper just as Tim lowered his arms, his small smile back in place.

"I usually don't have such large numbers to work on?" he tried to defend himself, but knew how futile it was when a drop of blood from his enemies rolled down his cheek. "Sorry, I got over excited."

Damian rolled his eyes.

"Let's go to the dungeons," he muttered, wiping his own forehead as the blood continued to rain over them.

"Yes, sir," Tim whispered, walking behind him.

On their way to the dungeons Damian was not surprised to find another two headless ninja hiding in the shadows. He had known Tim's voice was powerful beforehand, and was not afraid of its mortal intensity as he had previously thought. Timothy was, after all, a merfolk, and as such, he was born to be a predator.

"I don't think the Demon's Head is here, Damian," Timothy whispered as soon as they reached the dungeons. "This place is too full of old magic."

"Maybe it is store place for one of his experiments?" Damian supplied, staring into the cages, nostrils moving as he breathed.

Timothy stared at him in turn.

"Why would you say that?" the merman asked.

"Because," Damian replied with a superior smirk as he turned quickly and leveled his sword to Timothy's shoulder. "One of them is right behind you."

Timothy gapped, lips carefully parting, as he turned around and backed into Damian's broad chest.

A creature was staring at them both with one milky one eye and a blue-green one, determination and intensity reflecting the glint of the steel leveled at his neck. Greenish veins were stark against his pale skin, barely covered by locks of the blackest ebony and whitest silver.

At the sight of Damian's sword, the creature emitted a pathetic moan.

"What's that?" Damian hissed, slowly pulling his arm around Timothy's waist to push him out of the way.

Timothy, however, didn't bulge.

"It's a zombie," he whispered in awe. "A real, breathing, feeling zombie."

"The worst kind of undead then," Damian growled, pulling with more strength. "Move aside so I can put this creature out of its misery."

Once again, the zombie moaned, one hand reaching for the two of them, blackened nails not able to touch them.

"He doesn't want to die," Timothy whispered.

The zombie nodded, lips curling downwards.

"It can't possibly understand life or death, Timothy, a zombie is a string-less puppet," Damian explained patiently, still tugging. Ignoring the zombie's moans and groans of protest.

"He," Timothy insisted. "Is a clearly sentient being, Damian, and an innocent one at that."

"Really?" Damian mocked. "Pray tell, then, how can you be so sure?"

Timothy elbowed him roughly on the stomach to express his displeasure.

"Because, Damian," Timothy hissed back. "He can clearly understand us. Isn't that right, Mr. Zombie?"

The zombie paused for a second, then nodded.

Damian's eyes widened.

"Impossible," he said.

"Didn't you say yourself he is an experiment?" Timothy argued, slowly approaching the creature. "Hey, it's okay, are you hurt in any way?"

The zombie shook his head, fingers carefully reaching for Timothy's fins.

The merman laughed.

"Yeah, sorry," he said. "I'm not human either."

"Remove your hands at once, undead," Damian demanded, slapping the zombie's hand away from his companion.

The zombie, amazingly enough, gave him a completely unimpressed look, before his fingers once again reached for Timothy's face.

"I think he's just curious," Timothy tried to sooth. "He's not hurting me."

"Great," Damian snapped, rolling his eyes. "You just had to get yourself an undead pet on our first mission."

He grabbed his sword once more and decided to stalk out of the dungeons, carefully ignoring Timothy's and the zombie's glares pinned to his back as the merman carefully led his new friend by the hand.

He was sixteen.

Yet, he seemed to be too old to deal with his maniacal merman's whims and now an overly eager undead puppy.


	4. Cuddles

It took them less time than expected, or so Damian would want to think – considering they now have drag around Timothy's less than graceful pet – to head south from Sweden and into the more agreeable climate of Denmark.

No, it wasn't idea for Damian who was used to the sun of the desert and the warm sand under his feet, and was still cold and his temper short, but by then he had learnt to keep his emotions in check considering how their small party of two had grown in numbers and that the care to hide Timothy's…. particularities would not work on his dog.

The moment any human saw the zombie, their reaction was pretty much the same at all times.

They either run away screaming, begging their god for salvation.

Or ran away screaming because the plague was back and they needed to protect their families and beg their god for salvation.

Damian, of course, had rolled his eyes every time it happened, until Timothy had to wrap a heavy cloak over his zombie and carefully place one of Damian's hats over the creature's face to hide most of his features.

The creature had whimpered, feeling lost for a moment, but he had wrapped one pale arm around Timothy's waist, eyes set on Damian's and it seemed to calm him down enough.

Damian, had, of course, fumed silently at the creature's dare.

"Dumb creature," he would hiss from time to time. "We should have left it in Sweden."

"Damian, please," Timothy would scold back, a frown on his face. "He's alone."

"So are we, Timothy," Damian would argue back, ignoring the moans and groans of protest the zombie would emit as he pointedly gave his back to it. "We are all alone."

Timothy would then grab his hand violently, entwining their fingers together and grinning his manic, sharp-fanged smile.

"I am not alone, brat, and neither are you," he would hiss back, eyes determined. "I have you and you have me. My blood is inside you and your blood is over me."

Damian would always fail to know how to reply to that.

Hence Timothy's pet remained by their side.

One of those nights, as they rested in an inn in Copenhagen, Damian finally got the answers that, while were unexpected to him, were not sought by.

Timothy sat by the window – as he always did whenever they found themselves alone – and removed his glamour to stare at himself in the reflection of the glass, eyes melancholic, idle fingers caressing his own collarbone where his pearl used lo lay and now Damian's own blood rested.

He had wanted to comfort his companion, after all. The intelligence the merman was getting them was amazing, but…

… but Timothy's pet had always knelt by Timothy's side on the window, staring at him with his only good eye.

Timothy had looked back at him and smiled his usually small smile, his clawed fingers running through his zombie's hair.

"I will need to give you a haircut soon," he had whispered, tilting his head. "A bath too."

"Illogical," Damian scoffed from his own position on the bed as he sharpened his daggers. "It's an undead, Timothy, it cannot stink and its hair cannot grow."

Timothy eyed him then, a frown on his own face.

"His hair is still getting longer Damian, and he smells of human sweat," he replied.

The zombie had moaned then, his eye going to rest on Damian's dark look for a moment before a small, wicked smile curled his purple-ish lips.

In seconds he had started head-butting Timothy's arm softly, lips allowing soft whimpers to escape his throat.

"Huh?" Timothy instantly dedicated his sole attention to him. "What is it, dear one? What do you need?"

The zombie continued to nudge Timothy's hand with his head, whimpering, the most pathetic look on his pale face.

Finally, after a soft whine, he rested his head on Timothy's lap, eyes set on the merman's.

Damian gapped.

Timothy allowed himself a soft laugh.

"Oh, you poor thing," he whispered, running his fingers through the zombie's hair, carding through it with his claws. "You just wanted a little attention, didn't you?"

"As if that thing does not get enough of your attention already, Timothy," Damian hissed, completely engaged on ignoring the pair.

Timothy giggled like a little kid

The zombie grinned, all yellow-ish teeth and charm, and let one of his large hands to grab Timothy's small one, palm upside down.

Index finger tracing patterns on the merman's skin.

Timothy blinked, shocked.

"You…" he whispered, awed. "Please go a little bit slower, I am not as versed in the human tongue."

The zombie nodded, continuing his tracing.

Damian perked, staring at them curiously.

"J… A… S… O…N…" Tim whispered. "Your name is Jason?"

The zombie – Jason – nodded, a wide smile on his face.

"That's impossible!" Damian snapped, standing. "You will not let me believe that your dead pet actually wrote his name."

"He just did!" Timothy replied with excitement, his fins flapping happily. "Oh, give me that quill on the desk Damian, this is so amazing!"

"If he starts cursing us both it wouldn't be as funny, Timothy," Damian growled, not happy with the way Jason continued to hold his head on Timothy's lap like an over indulgent kitten and how Timothy's fingers continued to pet him unconsciously.

"You set the wards on every room we stay in, Damian," Timothy argued, sea-blue eyes wide. "Please?"

"Fine, it is on you, Timothy," he hissed, giving the merman quill and parchment as he requested, rolling his eyes in annoyance when he gave both to Jason to play with.

Jason's one good eye focused on the white paper, his hand clumsily holding the quill.

He eyed Timothy's eager face and then glared at Damian's.

With a deep sigh he proceeded to write.

**'Name's Jason Todd'** he wrote first**. 'If brat won't stop callin' me PET I'll snap his neck'**

He stopped then, wrapping a hand against his wrist and whimpering lightly.

**'Can't talk'** he tried again. **'Have no tongue. But I'm smart, brat.'**

"Fascinating!" Timothy whispered in awe.

"His penmanship is atrocious," Damian scoffed. "And his manners even worse."

"I would have to guess his joints are stiff?" Timothy whispered, taking Jason's hands in his own. "Even writing this little made your wrists swell, Jason. Try not to overdo it."

Jason nodded, a cocky smirk on his face

A knife imbedded itself in his skull, forcing his eyes to open wide.

"Damian!" Timothy cried, standing from his perch on the window. "What were you thinking!"

Damian scoffed at the zombie pulling onto the dagger's handle partially hidden in his hair, moans and groans of protest filling the room.

"I will not tolerate threats from this thing, Timothy," the hunter snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am in charge of this expedition, this creature breathes because of my mercy and yet dares to threaten my –"

He never managed to finish, because the same dagger he had expertly thrown to pierce the zombie's skull was now flying in his general direction, stabbing the wooden wall a few millimeters from his face and quieting his words with shock.

"Jason!" Timothy cried, staring at the zombie in shock.

Jason simply grabbed his own written threat, stabbing it with a finger angrily, groans spilling from his mouth.

"You putrid bag of bones!" Damian roared.

Jason replied with a groan of his own.

"ENOUGH!" Timothy snapped, one hand pushing at Jason's chest and the other stabbing Damian's collarbone with a claw. "BOTH OF YOU!"

Silence fell around them.

"I can't believe this!" the merman continued, glaring at his two companions. "We are a group now and we should act like one."

With a swirl of his robes, he turned to glare at Jason, still shell shocked on the window.

"You have to understand that Damian is the one moving us forward, we sleep under his roof, we eat the food he provides and you shall respect him accordingly," he hissed at the undead, claws pointing at the zombie's forehead.

"And you," Timothy snapped, turning to Damian. "Jason is a living, breathing, feeling creature like you and I, he might not die if you stab him but he will feel pain over it. He never asked to be part of The Demon's Head's experiments and you know it, stop pouring your hatred for your enemies onto his back!"

Jason whimpered.

Damian gapped.

Timothy huffed.

"Until you two learn to behave like normal, functioning adults I shall be in the room next door… singing!" the merman snapped finally, skin flushing a deep shade of green and scales shinning under his eyes. "Good night!"

With that, Timothy left the room, slamming the door on his way out and loudly stomping over the next room, where he, quite obviously, slammed the door and, judging by the wave of merfolk magic that covered the air, locked it firmly.

Damian breathed in deeply, trying to absorb what had happened.

"This is all your fault, you corpse," he snapped, turning to the still kneeling Jason.

The zombie's eyes widened, his fist instantly reaching to crash against Damian's shoulder.

From the next room, Timothy sighed.

It would prove to be a long night.


	5. Fathers

Damian's favorite place in the whole wide world was his father's chest. He liked to nap over his father's chest, ear pressed against his beating heart and letting the rhythmic sound of his every breath lull him to sleep.

He liked to feel his father's powerful fingers caressing his hair and his booming voice mellow to a soft whisper as he told him how much he loved him, how much Damian made him proud.

When Damian closed his eyes he could almost hear his father's soothing laughter as they played. He could feel the warmth of Titus' back as he rode his beloved pet, shrieking with laughter as his father gave them chase, swearing revenge on them.

He remembered clearly how his father would finally lift him from Titus' back, nuzzle his sweaty hair with his nose and whisper: 'Time to go to bed, little explorer.' Before carrying him back into the manor.

Those were his favorite kinds of dreams.

His favorite way to remember his father.

Yet his dreams would always turn to the macabre, the fire and the screams of agony of the household staff as they were viciously murdered. His father's strong, secure arms would turn into Pennyworth's weakened, slender frame, and his aged hands as they cover his mouth with trembling fingers and his raspy voice whispers in his ear that he can't move, that he has to stay silent.

His father's eyes were dripping blood that night, the ruby drops running like tears down his masculine face as he held the family sword in his left hand while the right one hung uselessly – broken – from his arm.

Smoke was everywhere, the heat was scorching, and all around Damian, glass windows exploded as the Manor was invaded.

Knowing himself defeated, Damian's powerful, wonderful, loving father raised his eyes to the night, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and he let out his last plea, his last words into the darkness.

'Run, my son' he had screamed. 'I love you Damian, I love you, my son!'

And the words would echo in Damian's head even when his father's voice had faded into nothingness and Pennyworth's tears fell into his shoulder as he carried him to safety.

Damian opened his eyes with a soft whisper of "Father…" his eyes were wet with tear-tracks going into his hairline and his lips were bruised from the way his teeth have sunk into them. He didn't want to remember his father, not that way…

Not anymore.

He clenched his hands one, twice, in a futile effort to control his shivering, because this time it wasn't because of the cold – he was cold, as usual – and he was sure he wouldn't be able to pretend it was so, even if he tried

A small, cold hand slithered into his own by the third attempt, forcing Damian to turn his head to the left, eyes still red-rimmed, lips swollen.

Timothy was staring back at him, head on the pillow, eyes glinting under the feeble moonlight.

"Don't say a word if you don't want to," he whispered, his mouth small, as usual.

Damian bit his lips once more, body tensing.

Timothy's eyes strayed to the window, to the city of Frankfurt outside.

They remained in silence for almost ten minutes, making Damian think his companion had fallen asleep.

"My father was a gentle man, despite appearances," he whispered suddenly, voice tender. "He would hold me in his hands and let his fingers caress my tail. 'My Little Tadpole', he would call me, 'it doesn't matter, one day you will be a heartbreaker and your mommy will eat everyone who approaches you.'"

Damian finally turned on the bed to watch Timothy's profile.

He looked… sad.

"He liked to sit by the shore and enjoy the sun against his skin, he would pull me with him all the time in a little glass jar so I wouldn't dehydrate," Timothy laughed. "And tell me all these fairytales of princesses and their knights and he would change the endings so the dragons guarding the treasures would always be the heroes in the end, and trolls never died and monsters also had their happily ever afters."

Damian stared.

Timothy locked their gazes.

"He did all in his power to make me feel beautiful," he said finally. "Despite the obvious."

Damian wanted then and there to tell Timothy that he wasn't as monstrous as he obviously believed, that his father was right, he had actually turned into a beautiful creature who broke hearts left and right, If the people they had already met in their journey and Timothy's zombie pet were any indication.

If the fluttering inside his chest was to be believed.

"What happened to him?" he asked instead, his fingers unconsciously tightening around the merman's.

"Hunters," Timothy replied. "He protected mom and I during a draught, when we couldn't move as quick."

Damian swallowed when a single, silver tear rolled down Timothy's cheek and turned into a small, glistening pearl before it hit the sheets.

"He was a hero, then," he concluded.

"So was yours," Timothy replied, his slender arms wrapping around Damian's chest as his cheek came to rest on his shoulder.

Damian's throat clogged.

"Does it ever stop?" he asked quietly, his fingers sliding through Timothy's hair. "The hurt?"

Timothy sighed.

"Not really," he answered, nose nuzzling Damian's neck. "But the fond memories become stronger too."

There were no words Damian would use then, no consolations, or even hopeful exclamations.

They both knew it.

With a soft exhale, Timothy's lips touched Damian's chin, hand tightening against Damian's.

He began to hum what Damian recognized as an old epic of heroes and adventures. One his father used to sing to him and, most likely, Timothy's father had sung to him as well.

He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of his tears against his skin as they slid from them, the knot in his throat relaxing and swelling with every breath…

… and he allowed Timothy's sorrowful song to lull him back to sleep.

He didn't dream again that night.

And for that, he was grateful.


	6. Godfathers

Despite Timothy's more than obvious intellect – and maybe, because of his lack of judgment – the merman decided it would be a wonderful idea to abandon Damian and Jason in the middle of Prague with a vague 'I have a meeting but I'll be back in an hour or so, be good while I'm gone!' and a sassy little wave of his hand.

Jason had whimpered like the pathetic zombie pet that he was while Damian simply had crossed his arms over his chest and reminded Timothy that he had his blood, therefore, he would always know where he was and this, running away from him would be impossible.

Timothy had smiled, all teeth and mischief before reminding Damian that no, he had no intention to ditch him until his heart had been brought back to him.

And then he had left the two alone, Damian eyeing the passing by crowd, looking for threats and Jason staring at the little flowers struggling for some sunlight as they sprouted between the cobblestones on the ground.

It was odd for them to be around such areas, as Damian and Timothy preferred to silently blend with the busier market crowds, but Damian was tired of the noise of the oblivious humans and had drifted to a quieter part of the city where the buildings were more ornamented than practical and the population as a whole breathed in an air of luxury.

Jason, stupid pet that he was, refused to move from the spot the merman had left them, scowling at Damian when the half-ling found himself bored and tugging on his hand when he started to wander away

Finally, frustrated – and fearful of Timothy's wrath should he find out Damian had abandoned his dear undead pet, - he grabbed the thing by the sleeve and proceeded to drag him away from the plague-fearing crowds.

Which was, really, the reason why he has resting his body against the sidewall of an ancient church dedicated to a saint he could no longer name, enjoying the sun as it bathed his face while Jason fussed and groaned around, trying to catch his attention and being particularly annoying as he did so.

Prague, Damian could admit if only to himself, was a city thrumming with magic and creatures of all spectrums seemed to gravitate towards it and seamlessly mingle with the local humans. A few elven priests had passed them on their way out of the market, nodding their greeting at Damian and scowling fiercely at his undead companion.

A pixie had stopped to stare at them for a few minutes too, hands tight around her basket, before darting away with a frightened whimper.

At some point Damian had been forced to snap that Jason should stop smiling altogether.

His suggestion was received by the zombie with a rather rude hand gesture.

Two hours after noon, Damian was about to head back to their inn for a nap when he noticed two things.

One, Jason had, somehow, gotten his hands on a rather oddly scented cigarette which he was smoking with gusto

Two, the pixie from before had returned and was bringing with her a tall, muscular creature that stank of fire and sulfur, with a presence so overwhelmingly gigantic that Damian felt he was going to suffocate should he approach him.

"There they are! The thieves!" the pixie cried, fingers pointing at them rudely. "The undead one has the loot!"

Damian immediately wanted to scoff at her, because the zombie was obviously too dumb for any kind of real illicit and, most likely, had grabbed something bright and colorful that caught his attention and had simply forgotten to return if afterwards.

But when he turned to order Timothy's pet to return whatever he had taken, he was able to see how the undead's black cloak was full with pockets – that Damian didn't remember sowing to the cloth himself, considering the cloak used to be his – and each of these new pockets brimming with gold, bread, small weapons of all kinds and even jewels.

He gapped.

"Corpse!" he snapped. "What did you do!"

Jason ignored him for a moment, eyes set on the creature approaching them, knuckles cracking loudly, sky-blue eyes glinting with fury and whimpered, deciding, for once, upon self-preservation.

Damian's eyes widened once more as he was unceremoniously hoisted over Jason's shoulder, the powerful creature and the accusing pixie quickly disappearing behind them in the distance as the undead dashed away through the streets.

"Hey!" the creature yelled, giving chase.

Damian stared as his merman's pet ignored every single cry of the humans as he practically trampled over them on his maddened race to safety.

"Let me go, you beast!" he demanded, knees and elbows sinking on the zombie's back and stomach – and act that earned him an unimpressed growl and a slap on the back of the head from his kidnapper – to no avail whatsoever, as they crossed over stone bridges, Jason's so-called loot clinking on his pockets as they skipped over the cobblestones.

A loud, cheerful whimper escaped the zombie's mouth as they approached the market square, where, low and behold, Timothy was standing in front of a vendor, comparing two fur-lined coats against the sunlight with a small, fond smile on his face.

The merman's eyes widened, however as he heard his pet's call, all calm melting from his face as he stared at the zombie holding the half-ling over his shoulder, an apologetic grin on his face as he dashed past him and into the square.

"Jason? Damian?" he called, eyes full of disbelief.

"Timothy!" Damian snapped, embarrassed to be caught in such situation by his travelling companion – thank god his father was never there to see him reduced to such indignity, he was sure the shame would have killed him once more. "Stop your dumb pet at once!"

The merman had a witty retort at the tip of his tongue, Damian was sure, but the ridiculously powerful monster from before was running after them and Jason had simply zoomed past his master with a while and a grab for a bag from one of the scandalized vendors before losing them all in the convoluted streets once more.

"Let me down!" Damian snapped, finally managing to reach for his sword despite his awkward positioning and quite ready to cut the zombie's legs off if necessary, when, without warning, he was dumped back into the ground, head first.

The zombie, however, was in no rush to check on him, for he had reached into his newly-stolen bag and was carefully tracing symbols on the floor with what, to Damian at least, appeared to be a mix of white clay that, quite easily, painted the ground around them.

"What are you doing?" Damian asked, shocked, as the undead continued his intricate laboring, eyes focused on each and every graph as he drew them with his stiff fingers.

"Ooohhhh," Jason snapped at him once he had finished a complete circle around them, once again fishing into his pockets for a small bottle of wine and dumped its whole content on the symbols, which, amazingly enough, made them glitter and form a perfect shimmering shield between them and the outside world.

"What?" Damian gapped, eyes wide. Apparently the creature wasn't as stupid as he had first believed, for him to create such an amazingly detailed craftsmanship in mere minutes. "What are you?"

A growl, however, was his answer as their pursuer appeared over the edge of the castle to their right, eyes bright and hands clenched, teeth bared in a snarl.

"You two have done enough," he said, cracking his knuckles against eachother as he approached them. "I was in the middle of an important date when that pixie interrupted me!"

"Don't put me in the same as this monster!" Damian growled back, taking a step back as the powerful presence of the creature approached them.

"You expect me to believe you are not the one pulling this corpse's strings?" the creature snapped. "Fat chance."

He raised his hand, ready to seize Damian by the arm when he was stopped by the shimmering barrier and a snap of magic pulled him back.

"What the…" he said, confused.

Damian stared at the barrier, trying to recall the times Pennyworth had attempted to teach him runes – at the time he had been more preoccupied with preparing his body to become the ultimate slaying weapon, he had a father to avenge and books would not solve his problem, - and faintly managed to recognize some of the runes Jason had drawn on the floor.

"Nothing but a human is allowed to walk pass?" he asked the zombie who, in turn, nodded enthusiastically, his smile as disgusting as it was bright.

He grinned back.

"You are good for something then," he said, patting the undead's head.

"Not fair!" the other creature growled, slapping powerful hands against the barrier and making the ground beneath their feet shake. "Come on! I have to get back! There's someone waiting for me!"

Damian allowed himself a moment of smugness and yes, he was still mad at the zombie for his stunt, but at least they had escaped punishment and…

"Damian?" Timothy's voice called from the other side of the bridge where he was eyeing them worriedly. "What happened? What are you guys doing?"

"Timothy!" Damian said, his own hands pressing onto the barrier.

Jason's own eyes widened, his lips releasing a frightened scream as he signaled the merman and made shoo-ing motions with his hands, and while Timothy didn't seem to understand his meaning, Damian immediately did.

While the two of them were protected by the barrier from their enemy's wrath, Timothy was not. He was outside, unaware of the danger, and easily within the reach of the other creature. He could be tortured and punished because of them, he could be killed and never know…

Because Damian had never told him…

"Run, Timothy!" he said, swallowing. "Run while you still can, we are safe, you but are in danger!"

Timothy, sweet, innocent Timothy, merely tilted his head, still not even approaching the bridge.

"Danger?" he asked. "What exactly did you two do this time."

"Please, Timothy," Damian insisted. "I'll explain later, you have to run now."

"But…"

"They are thieves," the creature snapped, jumping over the stone statues to surround the barrier and land gracefully by Timothy's side, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "They stole from the market and then decided to run away."

Timothy's eyes widened.

"Damian!" he said, dismayed. "How could you!"

"That's not important now! You are in grave danger!" And how could the merman miss it! He was standing right there, his powerful presence swallowing the air itself! Scorching the sky as he breathed.

"Danger," Timothy repeated. "From who?"

Jason pointed to the creature approaching Tim, loudly whining.

Timothy gasped.

"Kon?" he said. "You think I'd be in danger from Kon?"

The creature blinked at the merman.

"I thought I told you to wait for me at the market," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"My friends passed by running in distress," Timothy explained, scowling. "What did you do to them."

"Friends? These are the friends you've been telling me about, Tim?" the creature, Kon, snapped. "They made a mess in the market, hurt people as they tried to run away!"

"Oh, Goddess," Tim sighed.

"It was all your pet's doing!" Damian defended himself, his cheeks flushing. And how come he had not thought that Timothy, of course, would have befriended their pursuer? There was little Timothy didn't know of the old ways and very few he didn't know and liked – mostly humans and other savages – so, yes, he should have guessed they would be acquainted by now.

He didn't really know why the thought stung so hard, though.

"Jason?" Timothy snapped, hands on his hips.

The zombie stared back pitifully, hands searching inside his belt for a small silver locket hanging from a thin, long chain. There was nothing significant about the trinket and it would have possibly being worth nearly nothing on the market, save for the shinning pearl nested between small seashells and glass.

Timothy's severe scowl softened.

"Jason," he said softly. "That's not my pearl."

Kon turned to him once more, eyes wide and furious.

"You don't have your pearl?" he snapped, enormous hands grasping Timothy's shoulders. "Why on earth are you walking around the continent instead of coming to me for aid! For all the gods' sakes Tim, you can't even stand here! Stand back! Quick!"

Timothy shook his head, hand resting on top of Kon's.

"It was a long time ago, my friend," he whispered. "And Damian has sworn to retrieve it for me. He's immune to my magic, so he's the best for the job."

Kon scowled.

"And your corpse?"

"He's the one I was telling you about?" the merman beamed.

Jason growled curiously at the pair, tilting his head in that ridiculously obtuse way that made Damian snarl and Timothy coo, his earlier reservations gone as he decided that, any friends of Tim's could be trusted with their collective safety, thievery or not.

"Can you do it, Kon?" Timothy asked again, his eyes wide. "Please?"

Kon stared at his friend for a moment, a bout of silent communication born of their years together passing through them for what seemed like an eternity, until he sighed, a hand running through his short black hair.

"Okay, Tim," he said in theatrical defeat. "I'll take him home and see what I can do, I guess you and your half-ling can meet me there?"

"We will," Tim promised. "Thank you, Kon, you are the best."

The creature turned to stare at Damian – who was, incredibly enough, past over his earlier fright over his incommensurable power and quite annoyed at his boastful nature and Timothy's obvious fondness, but no, he was not envious of their closeness, that would have been useless - and grinned smugly at him.

"Your defense is awesome," he said happily, walking towards them. "No creature would be able to breach them."

"Which is why you will have to wait a few hours for the barrier to dissipate," Damian scoffed at him, arms once more crossing over his chest to signal his displeasure with the situation as a whole.

"Not really," Kon replied, his smile widening. "All I would have to do is remove the caster and the barrier would crumble."

"But seeing Jason is inside with me and you are outside," Damian taunted, his own smile curling his lips.

"And yet your zombie neglected to take something into account," Kon said simply, shoulders shrugging.

Jason's scowl returned as his hand reached for a gun.

Damian raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"And what would that be?" he had to ask.

Kon didn't reply with words this time.

He simply spread his arms wide, his eyes locked with Damian's.

And rose into the air.

Damian gapped.

Jason scrambled to get away from his reaching hand.

Timothy laughed.

"Yes," he said between chuckles. "He flies."

With a whimper of distress, Jason was pulled from the barrier and into the air by his cloak, hands wildly reaching for Damian for help.

Damian stood frozen on his spot until the barrier completely collapsed and the runes disappeared into the ground.

From the end of the bridge, Timothy waved at him.

"Shall we follow them?" he asked, tilting his head in a way that was far more endearing that Todd's.

Damian nodded dumbly.

"Was that…" he had to ask as he walked towards his companion.

"A golem? Yes," Timothy replied, still smiling.

"He's the…"

"Oh, not the golem, no," the merman interrupted. "That one disappeared a long time ago."

"Then…" Damian turned, confusion clear in his eyes.

"Kon was created when an alchemist fell in love with the sun," he whispered sadly. "Knowing his love was futile he tried to grasp a little of the sun's power and make a child of their own."

"That's the highest form of heresy," Damian whispered, shocked.

"The church thought the same, they burned him a few years later," Timothy nodded. "But there was very little they could do with an indestructible child of the sun."

Damian finally reached Timothy and allowed the merman to grasp his hand as he inspected him for injuries – at least someone seemed concerned for his safety thankyouverymuch – and then led him through the streets, his eyes melancholic.

"We met when I was a child, I wanted to travel the world and my father and mother allowed it granted I stayed close to the waters," the merman continued his explanation. "We became friends."

"He's the reason why you brought us here?" the half-ling had to ask.

Timothy smiled once more.

"Prague is full of different creatures, any lead towards finding the Demon's Head would be here," he explained. "And I thought he might be able to help Jason with his little problem too, and we could kill two birds with a stone then."

"If you think that golem can improve that dumb corpse," Damian snapped, looking away.

Timothy laughed.

"No need to be so mean to him, Damian," he said. "I thought about you too."

"While trying to help your pet?" the hunter asked, shaking his head.

Timothy nodded, smiling, and produced from his bag one of the fur-lined coats he had been inspecting at the market.

"I was not sure the shoulders would fit, but you still have a lot of growing up to do, don't you?" he muttered, straightening the cloth against Damian's side with his hand. "And the color brings out your eyes?"

The half-ling stared at him, eyes wide.

"You bought me a coat," he whispered, confused.

"You are always cold," the merman replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

Damian wasn't sure what prompted him then, the adrenaline of the chase, the heat of the sun over their heads or maybe the fact that Timothy was always taking care of him, but, for that moment, he felt grateful and warm.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the merman's smaller frame, hiding his flushing face against Timothy's shoulder and feeling his gills move nervously against his face.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Timothy gently placed his own arms around the half-ling, fingers caressing the nape of his neck.

"You are welcome," he said back, his smile growing.

There was more Damian wanted to say, he knew it, he could have said how grateful he was that Timothy was there to care for him, or how important his dedication was to him, maybe even point out that he was, in fact, jealous of the attention the merman showered to the zombie and now the golem because it was his blood on Timothy's collarbone, him who had promised to return his heart to him and he who wanted to protect him from evil.

Yet, as it seemed to be a motif with his and Timothy's interactions.

The words would remain unsaid.

"Tim! Hey Tim!" Kon called happily, making Damian realize that they had, indeed arrived to the golem's house. "Hey, your zombie is awesome!"

"Kon?" Timothy asked, stepping away from Damian with an embarrassed smile. "What happened."

The golem approached them both, grinning from ear to ear as he placed a hand on the merman's shoulder, eyes full of pride.

"I just used some of father's books and found what you guys were looking for," he explained, puffing his chest. "Nothing could be done for the eye though, it was a gonner, but the rest? You can just say I'm awesome like that."

Damian scowled, not allowing himself a moment to admit that he now hated the obnoxious creature in front of him.

"What exactly did you do?" he snapped, his hand still holding Timothy's tightly.

The golem beamed at him.

"I just had to get some pieces from the lab but your friend is good as he can possibly be, considering the obvious!" he said with pride. "Plus he's so funny!"

"Funny?" Tim asked, tilting his head.

"Hey! Jay!" Kon called, his smile impossibly wide.

The door to the small house opened with a bang as the zombie walked out, another cigarette hung from his lips and his skin, while still pale, attracted less attention with the eyepatch currently covering his bad eye.

He could easily pass for a human now.

"He looks badass, doesn't he?" Kon asked.

"You just covered his eye?" Damian snorted.

"And I gave him some parts he was missing," the golem explained, shaking his head.

"Parts?" Timothy grinned. "Really?"

The zombie would reply himself as he finally approached the group, his cigarette still in his mouth and a sardonic smirk on his now more normal looking mouth.

"Hey, Timmers," he greeted, smirking with now white teeth.

Timothy beamed.

Damian stared.

"At least you look passable now," Damian scoffed, not sure why the thought of a talking, more normal Jason unnerved him so much.

That is, until the undead turned to him.

"You," Jason hissed. "Little brat!"

Timothy's, Kon's and Damian's eyes widened.

"What?" Damian gapped.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to try to communicate with you, huh? You are as bad as you old man, that what you are! And constantly putting yourself in danger? We are so gonna stop that, ya' know? I didn't promise your old man I would care for you to watch you traipse around the world without the proper training!" the zombie scowled, face getting closer and closer to the young hunter's.

Timothy turned to Kon.

"Did you do this?" he asked, blinking.

The golem shook his head.

"I just gave him one of Father's mock, gold tongues," he replied, staring in awe. "You said he might need one."

"This wasn't what I had in mind, really," the merman sighed.

"And while we are at it, what's with you parading around with merfolk?" Jason continued as he inspected every inch of Damian's appearance. "Not that Tim here is not great but you put yourself in grave risk making deals with him, what if he was a whole merman and had cursed you? What if he was just playing around while trying to eat you? What if he was a member of the League of Shadows trying to lure you to the Demon's Lair?"

"Your confidence in me is touching?" Timothy tried, a pout forming on his lips.

"You know I love you, Tim," the zombie said between a puff of smoke. "I wouldn't have followed you two around if I didn't. But the kid has to understand that he was being reckless by approaching you."

"It was more of a we were forced into circumstances?" Timothy tried to sooth.

"You could still be dangerous," Kon supplied, grinning. "I've seen you kick ass."

"You are not helping me, Kon."

"Who do you think you are to talk to Timothy or myself like this, corpse!" Damian finally snapped, taking a step back from the glaring zombie. "You should be grateful we allowed you to tail us, much less we have been offering you food and shelter and now Timothy was kind enough to get you another tongue, and what do you know about Father? You couldn't possibly make this lie more convincing?"

The zombie stopped his glaring.

"You don't remember me?" he asked, blinking. "Kid, I was sure you somehow remembered me and that's why you wanted me around."

"I never wanted you around," Damian hissed. "Timothy allowed you to live, remember?"

"Maybe an explanation would be good, Jason?" Tim tried, setting a soothing hand on Damian's arm.

Jason scoffed, taking a puff of tobacco.

"The name's Jason Todd, I told you," he muttered.

"We know," Tim nodded.

"I'm the last apprentice of Master Bruce Wayne," the zombie continued. "And this brat's godfather."

"Oh my," Tim breathed.

"That's… not possible," Damian growled. "Father said you died."

The zombie rolled his eyes.

"No shit."

Kon stared at the odd group in front of him, trying not to smile to himself.

Yes, he was worried that his childhood friend was in pain – a merman without a pearl? Of course he was – but throughout the whole tirade, Damian had not let go of his hand and Jason, while still getting used to his new tongue, had nothing but praises for his two companions.

Yeah, he couldn't leave Prague like that, he had promised his Father he would watch over the city as the sun once did.

But, for a while, he guessed Tim would be okay without him.


	7. Advice

Jason had been in the middle of polishing his new leather boots – a birthday present, he couldn't be any more proud himself – when Bruce had broken into the house in what appeared to be hysterics, a small bundle of blankets and sorrow cradled in his massive arms.

"Bruce?" he had instantly asked, rising to his feet with concern.

But his mentor had not heard him, he was muttering to himself and the bundle, rocking back and forth as his weakened body came to rest against his father's favorite armchair, knees knocking against eachother as he failed to relax.

Jason stared at the man, frightened by his own vulnerability.

This was the man who had picked him out from the streets when the village around him succumbed to the plague, the man who had nursed him to health and protected him from evil.

The man he had always had the secret yearning to call father.

"Talk to me," he begged as he placed a hand over Bruce's arm, eyes full of worry. "Please."

Bruce looked at him, eyes lost.

"I never knew," he whispered. "She did it and never told me and… what am I going to do."

"Do, what happened? Bruce you are scaring me," Jason pleaded. He was only fifteen, he was an apprentice, a child by all means.

Bruce shook his head, more to clear it than for any other reason, Jason could tell, and his trembling fingers carefully removed some of the blankets in his arms.

Jason gasped, taking a step back.

In Bruce's arms laid a baby, all chubby cheeks and even, calm breathing.

Bruce's dark blue eyes staring at him calmly from his face.

"Goddess," he whispered, shocked. "You…"

"I was captured by the League of Shadows a year ago," Bruce hissed, his voice soft, lost. "She came to me, did something… I…."

Jason didn't need anymore words, he finally understood.

He remembered how Bruce had been after his return from that particular stint.

Quiet, aloof, broken.

They had done this to him, they had…

He covered his mouth with a hand, suddenly sick.

"I found him in one of the bases," Bruce continued and Jason had to wonder for whose sake the older man needed to do so. "He was so small, and I knew they were going to use him, she was going to use him."

The man turned to stare at his protégé, his eyes were wide, tearful, lost like a child's.

"I couldn't allow it…" he finished, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

Jason instantly wrapped his arms around his mentor, forcing himself not to shake and maybe, just maybe, be able to pass his strength to his broken master. For the first time in his life he was witnessing Bruce being what he truly was, human, and fragile.

And it scared him.

"We will pull through," he whispered fiercely. "I'll be here, I'll help you. And we'll make sure your baby boy never has to fear the League."

They stayed quiet for a while then, Bruce leaning his head on Jason's shoulder, Jason's nose in his mentor's hair.

"We need to move," the older man said finally. "Somewhere warmer."

Jason blinked.

"He's a half-ling," Bruce had explained. "He'll get cold easily."

Jason had turned then to stare at the baby, and the way he gently fussed in his father's arms.

"You think Alfred will mind Cairo?" he asked, idly letting his fingers caress the baby's black hair. "I hear it's a great place for a magical ward."

Bruce had smiled, his mouth trembling, his whole posture uncertain.

"It will be hard, working," he whispered.

"I can travel around in your place," Jason had offered. "It's time I made a name for myself anyways."

Bruce's eyes had been so grateful then, so full of love, that Jason had been forced to look away, his skin flushing.

"As long as you always come home," he said. "Take the sword."

Jason shook his head.

"Nah," he said, shrugging. "That's your family's sword. Your baby boy will need it."

"Jason."

"I'm more of a crossbow guy anyways," the teen had laughed, staring out of the window. "What are you going to name him?"

Bruce thought about it for a moment, thankful of the distraction from the future that he had been thrust into. Jason continued to stare out of the window, wondering if he would ever set foot on Wayne Manor again and, surprisingly, realizing he couldn't care less.

"My father's middle name was Demetrius," he said finally, wincing.

"That name sucks," Jason scowled. "You'll give him a complex."

"Demetrius is a respected name," Bruce defended himself.

"Demetrius Wayne is a horrible name, even I get the urge to bully him just by listening to it," Jason argued, smirking at the baby. "Don't you think so, baby?"

The baby, amazingly enough, cooed at Jason, small finger's reaching for his nose.

"He's rather tame, for a child of yours," the teen laughed, allowing the kid to grasp his face, wincing when that ridiculously strong hand scratched his skin.

Bruce frowned.

"Damian," he whispered then. "The tame one."

Jason sighed.

"He's going to be bullied," he muttered.

"His godfather will be there to protect him from bullies then," Bruce said simply, eyes focused on the baby.

"Alfred is too old to be stopping pint-sized bullies," the teen reasoned, because, yeah, Damian was a stupid name.

"Which is why you will be his godfather," Bruce replied. "If you want to, that is."

Jason finally looked up, eyes wide, and met Bruce's gaze.

Bruce's face was completely open and sincere.

Swallowing thickly, Jason looked once more down at the child.

"See, Dami?" he said, voice hoarse with emotion. "It seems I'll need to teach you how to fight back, because your father just gave you a horrible name."

"Damian, if you must know, happens to be my middle name, Master Jason," Alfred said from the doorway, eyes fond.

"What? No way!" the teen yelled, eyes wide, cheeks pink.

"It's not," Bruce laughed. "You have so many names you can just make that up and we would never know."

Alfred smiled softly at them, before covering Bruce's shoulders with a blanket.

"Indeed," the old djinn sighed, shaking his head.

—

Damian fell back against the grass with a tired sigh and a small groan of pain.

Todd's lessons were grueling and he was sure that, had he not had previous training, his limbs would fall off by exertion alone.

"You are a slave driver," he growled, cleaning the sweat off his face with his sleeve.

Jason stared at the half-ling with a smirk, his crossbow resting on his shoulder.

"I'm just training you the way your old man trained me," he shrugged, dropping on the floor to sit by Damian's side.

Damian panted, eyes set on the sky as the clouds passed them by slowly. It would rain soon, his instincts told him, and they would need to find shelter soon. Not that It was a big concern of his, really. Timothy had stared at them as they prepared for another day of training – Todd's training, his torture – and had simply stated that he would have a meal ready for them when they came back, if Damian could predict the incoming rain, so could Timothy, and most likely was preparing for it as they spoke.

"He would have been proud of you, kid," Jason said suddenly, eyes set on his weapon.

Damian turned to him, eyes wide.

"You think so?" he asked softly.

Jason smirked.

"I know so," he said, puffing his chest. "You are a little rough around the edges, but you have a good heart."

Damian flushed, his lips pursing in shame.

"He would not have been happy with some of my choices," he muttered, sitting up.

Jason hummed in agreement, a sardonic smile on his face.

"He would have thrown a fit if he saw you getting cozy with Timmers, that's a first," he said finally. Making Damian jump a little, his eyes narrowing, which made Jason raise his hands in a placating gesture. "Don't get all defensive, I like Tim too, he's a cool kid, but he's still a predator."

Damian's scowl deepened.

"So am I," he retorted, crossing his arms.

"Yes, but your father loved you," Jason sighed. "Damian, if you didn't know Tim was a cool guy, you would immediately assume he was a threat, his kind are predators famous for tricking people into doing their bidding, for you to be walking around with him is… suspicious."

"He doesn't have his pearl," Damian grunted. "And he has my blood."

"You can't tell that at first glance," the zombie argued. "Damian, I got to know him and that's why I like him, I know he will never hurt you intentionally, but… you can't forget he's a merman."

Damian's eyes lowered.

"Why are you telling me this," he whispered, hands clenched.

Jason placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm just trying to protect you like your father would have done," he said simply. "You are a half-ling, and therefore there are many parts of yourself you will have to struggle with as you age, many more than we do."

Damian bit his lips.

"I bit him, when we met," he whispered finally, the guilt and embarrassment coloring his face. "He tasted of sea water and pain."

Jason's hand on him tensed.

"It's normal considering he is heartless," he tried to sooth. "You didn't drink his blood, did you?"

Damian looked away.

"Damian!" Jason gasped.

"I swallowed by surprise! It was nothing like what I was expecting!" he tried to say, hands coming to hide blushing face.

Jason instantly wrapped an awkward arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to his chest.

"Just," he said softly, hiding his nose on Damian's hair as he once did with his father. "Try not to fall in love with him, kiddo."

Damian remained silent.

"He will one day go back to the ocean and all you will have are memories and heartbreak," Jason continued, doing his best to repress the impulses inside of him to rock Damian's smaller body back and forth, as he often did when he was a child. "He was not born to stay on dry land."

"He could stay if he wanted to," Damian whispered back, stubborn.

"Would you keep him from those that love him? His own family?" Jason sighed. "You are not that cruel."

"You are jumping to conclusions, and you know it," Damian hissed, removing himself from Jason's embrace. "Let's go back, Timothy most likely will be worried for us."

Jason watched his godson leave, a resigned scowl on his face.

"He's just like you, old man," he whispered to the afternoon sky. "He will not acknowledge his feelings until it might be too late."

With another sigh, he stood from the ground, following the young half-ling towards their camp where Timothy was waving a wooden spoon happily, his other hand displaying a battered pot.

The first drops of rain fell as they sat down to eat.


	8. Heart

"You are not getting away that easily, young man," Timothy said with a small smile on his face, arms crossed over his chest, hip resting against the doorway.

A boy of no more than eight years turned to him, blue eyes wide, smile full of mischief.

"I…" he said, covering his mouth with both hands to smother his giggles.

Timothy's small smile widened.

"Time to go to bed, little explorer, we will visit the cemetery tomorrow morning," he said simply, gently grasping the child's hand in his own and walking back to the bedroom. "And if you behave I'll have a surprise for you."

The child stared, blinking.

"Surprise?" he asked, tilting his head.

Timothy nodded, eyes fond.

He had been taking care of this child for years now, five? Six? Ever since his parents succumbed to human hatred and plague – and they had been so wonderful to Tim, so open and trusting of him who was obviously so different from them, they performed for his amusement and shared their food and shelter with him, they even let him hold their only son as he was born, out of love and compassion – and was so proud to see him grow and learn.

He was sure the boy's parents would have been proud.

"I have a friend who works at Budavári Palota," he said gently, pulling back the covers of their bed. "If you promise to be a good boy we might be able to spend the afternoon there."

The boy's eyes widened in delight as he was placed on the bed by his godfather, a squeal of excitement escaping his lips as he wrapped his short arms around the merman's neck and peppered his cheek with childish kisses.

"Oh, yes! Yesyesyesyesyes! I swear I'll be good, Tim!" he yelled, laughing. "And we can go there and see the knights and the princes and princesses?"

Tim sighed, covering them both with the blankets and allowing the child to rest his chin on his chest.

"I don't think the Archduke will be there," he said. "But we might meet the guards."

The boy nodded, pensive, his small hands grasping Tim's pajama's tightly as he made himself comfortable over the merman's body.

"Is Buda Castle like the one you lived in, Tim?" he asked suddenly, just as Timothy's eyes were closing in sleep, finger's gently caressing the shinning pear at the base of Tim's collarbone.

Tim opened a lazy eye.

"Castle?" he asked.

"You know," the child prodded, cheeks puffing. "Under the ocean."

Tim closed his eyes once more with a small groan. They had gone through this over and over and his godchild still didn't seem to get it.

Yes, he was a human boy and, as such, prone to flights of fancy and impossible dreams of childish fantasies, however, most human children had outgrown those fantasies by the age of eight and the fact that Tim's child had not was most puzzling.

Somehow, his boy had gotten into his head that Timothy was a princess – and sure, when he had been younger Tim had entertained him with stories of King Orin's bravery and Queen Mara's wisdom, but he had never mentioned himself in those stories at all - and no matter how hard Tim argued with him, the child did not change his mind and, quite simply, convinced himself Timothy was in land while undercover and couldn't risk his life by revealing his identity to the humans.

"I didn't live in a castle, really," he whispered, his hands coming to caress his child's dark hair.

The child scowled.

"Please, you don't have to hide it from me anymore, I know you did," he said, cheeks puffing as he pouted.

"My dearest," Timothy said simply, feeling dizzy. "I am not a princess."

"But," the child scowled, sitting up in bed. "That Vampire we met this afternoon called you Princess!"

Tim felt his cheeks flush at the memory and yes, he had been dealing with the old vampire for a long time now, mostly asking for his aid in food trade and goods that most human children needed for survival but Timothy himself was too inept to acquire on his own – he always paid him in blood, of course, but he somehow got the feeling that if he wanted to, he would not have to pay the older creature at all – but he had been sure his godchild had not been there to witness their exchange.

"He calls me a lot of things, baby," he said simply, shaking his head. "He's an old man and has gone senile with age, you shouldn't take him so seriously."

"He bit you," the child whispered, hand grasping Timothy's tightly. "He took your blood."

Tim sighed, wrapping his arms around his child and pulling him into his chest, trying to project all his love and tenderness to the human boy.

"We had a deal, and it doesn't hurt as much as you might think, he's never hurt me, he's actually protecting us," he tried to soothe, smiling. "Plus he brought us lots of delicious cakes."

"I don't care about the cakes," the child huffed, his own arms tight around his godfather's chest, his face flushing. "I just want him to go away and never come back again, we don't need him, do we? I'm all grown up now, and I can protect you! I can learn how to be a knight at Buda Castle and then King Orin and Queen Mara would let me protect you forever right?"

The merman sighed once more, his arms tightening around his child as he felt his tears soaking the soft cotton of his shirt.

Yes, his vampire contact usually took more than needed from him, and yes, they both knew it but, it somehow looked more like a vampire courting ritual than any other malice the older creature was capable of – he would have to consult with his mother soon, she would know about it – and yes, everytime they had their exchanges Tim grew weakened and sleepy, but they lived under his protection, nothing could happen as long as he was around.

If he could only convince his child to give their protector a chance?

Maybe have the vampire over for tea?

He was sure he and his boy would get along and the vampire had been a human man once, so he could know a lot about the proper education of men that Timothy would not and maybe, just maybe…

He shook his head.

He would see in the morning after they paid their respects to the child's parents, maybe spending an afternoon playing knights in Buda Castle might soften his baby boy's mood.

"We shall see when you are older, okay?" he said finally, unable to face that heartbroken little face and say no to him.

The child nodded, snuggling against his chest and neck, small hand resting over his pearl and enjoying the pulsing of his heart beat against his fingertips.

"I love you, Tim," he whispered as he fell asleep. "Don't ever go away."

"I love you too, Dick," the merman whispered back.

They slept in eachother's arms as they had done since the child had fallen into his care and would do so until the human boy had become a man and stopped needing him, Tim had thought.

Reality would be completely different, however.

That following morning, as the sun rose in the horizon and the birds sang to greet the day, Timothy's eyes snapped open, recognizing the remains of a sleeping curse upon his person.

He instantly shot up in bed, trying to identify the creature that had cursed him and felt his knees weaken and fall to the floor in utter agony.

The room, the little room he had lived in for so long, the same home he had built to raise his human charge, was in ruins.

The furniture crushed beyond recognition.

The floor scratched by the claws of some monster.

The walls and windows, the bed covers and curtains, everything was tinted in red.

Blood red.

Human Blood Red.

Timothy parted his lips, teeth sharp and glistening as he wailed his agony to the morning air.

His little godson was gone.

And so was his pearl.

Life for him was over.

The splashing sound of water against skin brought him back into reality as a single drop of water broke from the spring and into his cheek, making him recoil and fall to his knees against the wall, eyes wide.

"Woah, Tim, it was a joke," Jason said, eyes wide, as he pulled his hand out of the bathtub and stared at the merman in shock. "I thought you would want to use the tub for a change?"

Timothy stared back at him, eyes wide, hands trembling.

Somehow, they had already reached the main city of Budapest while he was distracted, and, somehow, Damian and Jason thought it a good idea to pull him into a bath house for some relaxation – Damian he could understand, the poor half-ling was usually so cold, he would surely welcome the hot spring water, but Jason? – and he had not even noticed until he had been about to walk straight into the tub.

"Timothy?" Damian asked himself, walking behind the merman and placing his hands on the slender shoulders.

Instinctively, he leaned against Damian's chest, the blood on his collarbone singing pleasantly with its proximity to its owner, trying to center himself back into his normal calm.

"You surprised me, Jay," he said simply, a shaky smile curling his lips. "I was just lost in thought."

"Obviously," Damian snapped, glaring at the zombie.

"I'm okay, really," The merman reassured Damian. "I lived in this city a long time ago, walking its streets, staring at the buildings… I felt melancholic."

The half-ling narrowed his eyes, nodding at the merman protectively.

"Since Todd already dragged us here," he said hesitantly, skin flushing.

Tim stared at the tub, brimming with hot water and flowers.

He shook his head.

"Maybe some other time? There are some places I'd like to see before we face the League, plus you two will need to get rid of me from time to time? I know I can be quite annoying," the merman said nervously, his eyes downcast.

Damian bit his lip.

"Timothy," he began.

"We'll meet you in an hour?" Jason said at the same time, his hand on Damian's arm. "Go, have fun, and buy some pastries for us?"

Timothy stared at the zombie for a moment, his eyes fond.

"Sure thing, I know where to buy the best cakes in the city," he whispered, grateful. "See you two in an hour."

Damian watched his merman leave with a frown on his face and a heavy feeling on his heart, head in turmoil.

"He's just sad," Jason tried to sooth his godchild. "You know how he is."

"He has been 'sad' since we left Prague," Damian argued, scowling at the water. "Since he knew we were to come to Hungary he has been absent-minded, gone from me…"

Jason sank into the water for a second, allowing it to wash away his sweat.

"He told you he has lived in this city before, it was bound to happen that we would cross paths with his past," the zombie mussed as he resurfaced, shaking droplets from his hair.

"We've met his past all over the continent," Damian hissed. "The Golem, that air sprite that would not stay still, even that dragoness that clued us in was one of Timothy's 'old acquaintances' and I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it, Damian," Jason sighed. "But he's almost a century old, he is bound to know more people."

"I wish we could live at the same pace," he muttered to himself. "Then I wouldn't feel like such a failure."

"You are not a failure, kid, you are just sixteen," the zombie sighed, wrapping a careless arm around the kid's shoulders. "Tim's older, and all, but comparatively he is just around your age."

Damian nodded, sighing.

"I just wanted to make him smile," he confessed, hands moving on the water, creating ripples. "Since I've known him he has not touched a single drop of water. He's a merman, he can't just say he doesn't miss his environment."

Jason tensed for a second, forcing his godchild to look up.

"Maybe he has his reasons?" the zombie tried, not convinced himself. "Maybe he… doesn't like water all that much?"

"He's merfolk," Damian scowled.

"He's Tim," Jason argued back.

"I'm such a child to him," the hunter lowered his face.

"You'd have to ask him."

Damian shook his head, scowling.

"He will think ill of me," he whispered. "I am ashamed of this scheme myself."

The undead sighed.

"Scheme meaning you wanted to see his tail?" he guessed, shaking his head. "Which is why you dragged us both to this bath-house?"

"I made him miserable," the hunter said. "And I think I'm breaking my oath to you, godfather."

The zombie laughed, a roaring sound that echoed over the walls of their private bath.

"I guessed as much," he said simply, shrugging.

There was so much more Jason would have said at that moment, things he had been researching since meeting with the two, things that might sooth Damian's aching heart, things that might mend the imaginary bridges both merman and half-ling had built around them.

But the moment he opened his mouth Damian was suddenly jumping to his feet with a wail of the purest anguish, his eyes wide, his fangs elongated and glinting in the candle light.

"Damian!" Jason said in shock, but the half-ling couldn't hear him anymore.

The boy was inside a shell of his own making, apparently, the way his eyes moved for side to side, slowly tinting a deep wine-red, the way his breathing grew ragged, his hands clenched and unclenched.

"Timothy's angry," the teen whispered at last, a snarl of pure fury growing on his lips. "Someone has made Timothy feel fury beyond my understanding."

Jason put his cloak on once more, all comfort of warm, scented water gone from his mind.

"How can you…"

"I don't know," Damian whispered. "I feel he is about to break."

"Can you tell where he is?" the zombie asked, gathering their weapons. The warm water could wait another day.

Damian nodded, taking his sword from Jason's outstretched hand and dashing out of the bath house without even making sure his godfather was following him. Timothy was in pain, his anger rich and dangerous.

Timothy had been broken while he was distracted.

"Wait for me, damn it!" Jason yelled from behind him, golden tongue glinting under the sun as they pushed passerby's from their way by will alone – it was becoming an habit of their, apparently, to run over civilians whenever they hit a city – and the undead struggled to keep up with his half-ling charge.

Damian never stopped, never cared about the humans he was supposed to protect.

Timothy was his priority.

Timothy's pain had to be first.

He jumped over a merchant's cart and into the roof of a house, skipping from building to building in his maddened rush to reach the merman, the cries of the people around them and Jason's screams for him echoing at the edge of his consciousness.

"Damian!" the zombie tried once more as his godchild started climbing an ancient stone wall with his nails alone. "This is Buda Castle! We can't just barge in!"

Damian continued on his way, not caring if the guards caught them.

Timothy.

Timothytimothytimothytimothytimothytimothytimothytimothytimothytimothy.

When he finally reached the edge of the wall, however, and felt ready to jump into action, was that he finally was able to bring the world back into focus.

Not because his godfather's arms were around his shoulders, stopping him.

Not because he finally acknowledged the foolishness of his actions.

But because of the carnage that greeted his eyes on the darkened courtyard beyond the castle's walls.

Timothy was jumping from side to side, bouncing off the walls to gain velocity, blood-stained hands extended, teeth bared, eyes wild.

Vampires of all kinds and ages fell before him, gasping their last breaths as they struggled for safety.

Damian stared, feeling, maybe, for the last time the dangers Todd had warned him about. He was finally witnessing the creature behind the merman's soft-spoken, mild-mannered exterior.

Timothy sized a young vampire – around Damian's age? Younger? – around the neck, an animalistic, high-pitched scream of rage escaping his throat as he ripped the creature's head from the rest of his body, bathing in the stale blood and maniacally cackling as he did.

The merman was a monster.

He was a predator.

He was glorious.

The half-ling turned to his godfather for directions, but found the zombie's eyes locked on, what apparently, was the source of Tim's uncontrollable rage.

Inside a small shed, hidden from the main patio, were children of varying all ages, hanging to the ceiling from their little blue feet on iron hooks, necks slashed as a silver container seemed to be collecting their pure blood.

Damian covered his mouth with his hands, feeling sick.

"Goddess," he gasped, shocked.

It was wrong, so very, very wrong.

The Demon's Head had never touched children before.

Grandfather had never, in all his centuries, allowed the slaughter of children like this.

It was one of the few certainties that Damian held close to his heart, if only out of familiarity. Something rotten and sickening like this was not Ra's Al Ghul's style.

But the little corpses were there, in front of his eyes, and the ragefearpainheartbreak Timothy was screaming out into the world was also beating inside of his chest, echoing into his being and everything became fussy around the edges because his own feelings of disgust easily fueled the merman's and he should be frightened, they shouldn't be sharing such a deep connection, they should not be able to influence eachother.

But nothing mattered.

Nothing mattered at all.

They took children.

They took innocent children and brought them here.

They must die.

With a growl, Damian jumped into the fight, sword plunging into the chests of his enemies, blood started bathing him in the same way he had expected the water to do so earlier that day, filling his nose with the putrid stench of the undead.

More and more vampires came out of the cellar, eyes blood red and glinting like rubies, fangs bared in snarls of ire.

The half-ling charged at them, evading their claws and blades with the frightening accuracy and grace his father had trained him for.

To his right he could finally see his godfather burst into action, raining arrows at their enemies with blind abandon, roaring in anger as he slaughtered anyone who stood in his way.

Damian felt himself cackle as pure bliss soared inside of him as the carnage continued. He slashes at them with his sword, tore his limbs with his hands, sunk his boot into their skulls as they fell.

Everything before his eyes was, by then, covered by a thin veil of red aggression, Timothy's rage and heartbreak an echo of his, their bloodlust, their combined desire for revenge.

The League slaughtered innocent children.

They fed from them like animals, treated them like cattle.

The League made Timothy cry.

The rush of adrenaline, the heat of the hunt, the perfection of that very moment was something Damian would always remember with a smile, he knew, for there was no moment in his life until then, that he had felt freer, more justified in the mission his father had thrust upon him than right then.

He was a warrior.

The moment, however, was short lived as he was forced onto his knees quite a few minutes later – among the corpses of his slayed enemies, between his severed hands and unseeing eyes – as his chest constricted and his lungs protested for breath.

He turned, wide eyed and frightened by this betrayal of his own flesh, only to see one of his grandfather's priced minions, Cain – the one in charge, the one who had started this, his mind told him – holding Timothy by the neck, slowly crushing his windpipe and pushing the merman over the rim of one of the courtyard's outer walls and right into the river below.

"Timothy!" he roared.

"Such a shame you are consorting with the traitors, Princess," Cain mocked, fangs glinting.

"Don't call me that, asshole," the merman hissed back, eyes narrowed.

"You should feel grateful your heart has been stolen, little doll," the vampire continued. "You would have made such a delicious morsel for the new Dark Prince."

Timothy's eyes narrowed into slits, his feet struggling to hold onto the wall and onto land itself, his hands uselessly clawing onto Cain's wrists.

"Prince?" he choked.

"Nothing you need to know, puddle," the man gloated. "You will have evaporated far before his greatest rebi-"

He would have kept mocking him, Timothy was sure, holding onto him with sadistic triumph until his corpse had slipped from his fingers and back into the waters, but Damian's sword had burst from his chest, running its upwards course through his putrid flesh until the blade was posed at the edge of Cain's chin and the base of his skull, forcing the vampire to gasp and gag in his own blood.

"Let Timothy go, you bastard," the half-ling hissed, eyes glinting. "And before you think about it, I can keep you alive like this for centuries. Torturing you, bleeding you dry and then gorging you on the blood of the vermin, never able to find true relief."

Cain swallowed, spouting blood onto Timothy's ashen face as he did so.

"Where is the Demon's Head," the merman gurgled, eyes feverish. "Where's Ra's Al Ghul."

The vampire's eyes widened.

"You dare to speak the master's name so callously?"

"My hand is getting tired, Cain," Damian snapped, twisting his blade to the side.

"What's the point," the vampire hissed in pain. "Master is a genius. As soon as he heard you had picked up his old sea whore he moved to a place either of you will be able to reach him."

Timothy's eyes widened for a second, his hand instantly wrapping around the protruding hilt of Damian's sword and pushing it through the smug vampire's skull, splitting his body in two with a vicious snarl.

Blood splashed them both as the half-ling quickly reached to wrap his arms around the merman, pulling him out of the edge and into the safety of the land. Tim melted in his arms, relief pouring out of every pore in his body, his smaller hands clinging to Damian's cloak for protection.

"Are you okay?" he asked, breathing into Damian's neck.

Damian nodded, allowing his fingers to caress trembling fins, his breathing as ragged as Timothy's as they struggled together for comfort.

"I will be," he whispered. "You?"

Tim shook his head.

"I feel rage I can hardly control," he whispered. "I want to hunt down every single one of them, bleed them like they did to the children, hear them cry in agony as they die."

"Because of the children," Damian said, sighing.

Timothy shook his head again, falling to his knees on the blood soaked grass and whimpering lightly when Jason – smug, fearless, also covered in the blood of their enemies, - approached them.

"You've been out of it since we left Prague," the zombie supplied, raising an eyebrow. "We've been worried."

The merman nodded, eyes downcast.

"They knew I was coming," he said finally, hands fisting into his clothing. "They knew I would come to Buda, that I was by your side. They've been baiting me all along."

Damian nodded, feeling the reassuring home of what he had now started to consider Timothy himself echo in his chest. They were connected, somehow. The blood he had poured on Timothy's collarbone the day they met – a safety precaution against ill wishing merfolk – was now connecting them and their hearts. A primal part of him trilled at the thought that he had captured this perfect being in front of him.

That the heart that had been taken from him was now been replaced with Damian's essence.

Damian had made him a new heart.

"You have to start trusting Damian and me, Timmers," Jason scowled, whipping the blood off his face with the back of his sleeve. "I've been more than patient, Damian too, we know there is a lot you are not telling us and we have respected you so far but…"

"Todd!" Damian hissed, baring his fangs.

"Damian," the zombie challenged back, eyes narrowed.

Timothy shook his head, his hand resting over Damian's on his shoulder.

"I came to this city after I managed to turn completely human, a long time after I met Kon and father passed away," he began, his voice a soft exhalation almost lost in the spring air. "It was hard for me to adapt, being human is a hard thing to fake, I was met with suspicion wherever I went, it hurt."

"But you adapted?" Damian prodded, scowling.

"I met troupe of Romani performers on the edges of the city, they knew what I was at first glance, and instead of meeting me with distrust they welcomed me into their fold, taught me the ways of the humans and how to pass as one," the merman continued, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "I'd never felt so welcomed as I did with them."

"And what happened?" Jason just had to ask – his eyes oddly serene, Damian noted, but then again, there was always this tranquil quality of his godfather's whenever something deeply personal and emotional was put forward.

"The plague, happened," the merman scoffed. "The citizens grew superstitious and decided to murder any outsider, trying to please their god. The troupe didn't make it, just their son survived."

"Their son…"

Timothy's eyes were dim and dead when they finally locked with Damian's.

"My godson, my little Richard," he explained, a bitter, self-deprecating smile on his face. "I raised the boy, taught him all I knew. I really wanted to repay the Romani for their kindness and he was just so small and frail."

Damian listened with rapt attention as his merman, his Timothy, continued on to tell them how he had raised the boy, how he had purchased a small room in the middle of Budapest and provided only the best for his child, how he taught him to read and write, sent him to the best of schools, traded with all creatures alike to Richard never lacked for anything.

"I was securing his future, I thought, I made deals and trades and sold my own blood in exchange for protection," the merman laughed hollowly. "And then I woke up and our little room was bathed in human blood, my baby boy was gone and someone had taken my pearl. Everything that was ever important disappeared and I couldn't stop any of it."

Damian tightened his arms around Timothy's slender shoulders, his chest aching with the echo of Timothy's pain. How he wanted to find the one responsible now, punish him for the tears this fragile and beautiful creature had shed over such betrayal. Respond in kind to the years of self-hatred he had most likely endured.

"And you think the League knew about that," Jason continued to prod unhelpfully and how Damian wanted to rip that cursed new tongue of his now, respect for his godfather be damned.

"Cain called me Princess," the merman said simply. "There is only one vampire in the world that used to call me like that, the one I was dealing with when it all happened."

Damian's eyes narrowed at the same time as he felt Jason's back tense and Timothy's hollow smile tint with hesitant caution.

"Surely you don't mean…" the half-ling began.

The merman nodded.

"Ra's Al Ghul," he said. "And now I know exactly where he is."


	9. Interlude: Jack

Jack had never wanted to be important or famous. Stuff of legends was more Janet's thing than his own and yes, he had done something others had failed at, sure, and yes, many believed he had done it in a mad dash for fame and fortune – and yes, he had to admit it had given him a good enough amount of gold after it was all said and done – but most people were wrong on his motivations.

He had done what he had done because it had been the right thing, he had been hungry, he had been cold, he had been terrified and had wanted to survive.

So no, he was not a celebrity nor did he throw around his generic and quite forgettable name in hopes of recognition.

Which, of course, was the reason why he was so usually surprised when someone – a human someone at the very least – actually recognized him and didn't immediately ask him for the gory details of his slays.

He was no legendary Wayne Huntsman, after all.

This time, however, he was not flattered, not happy to be back at the continent while one of the biggest alchemists in the known world expressed his avid desire to shake his hand and buy him a pint while he told him of his adventures.

No.

Because this time, the alchemist's clay kid/doll/experiment – the ugliest kid in the history of the world, he was sure – was floating behind his master's back, holding a tin bowl in his rock-strong fingers – that seemed able to crush him without an issue - in which, horribly enough, his baby boy was happily swimming in lazy circles and occasionally stopping to peek over the rim of his pool, wave at him with his thin three-fingered baby hands and smile his usually shy, needle-toothed smile.

"Jack?" the alchemist asked, confused, a hand outstretched.

"That thing," Jack began, preparing his least convoluted explanation for the questions that would indubitably arise the moment he finished his sentence with '… has kidnapped my son', but the alchemist was quick to beam at him, prideful and run a hand over his rock-doll's curly black hair.

"Oh, yes," he said, chest puffing. "Kon found it in the river the other day. Fascinating, don't you think? It might be the missing link in Atlantic merfolk evolution!"

Timothy's shy smile disappeared into a small scowl, his bulging eyes narrowing – quite adorably, in Jack's humble opinion – at the thought of being referred to as an 'it'.

"I wanted to dissect it, but you know how children are," the alchemist continued obliviously. "Kon wanted a pet and it seems harmless enough."

Jack's hand immediately tightened on his bow, his wrist itching to stab his arrow – one, two, maybe a thousand of them, all of the arrows in the land – onto that cocky alchemist son of a….

He took a breath.

"You misunderstand," he said, trying to maintain his cool.

But, no, how was he supposed to keep his cool when his baby boy, his precious, wonderful, beautiful little tadpole, had poked his round head out of the water, bulbous eyes teary as he opened his enormous pretty mouth and whined a long, high-pitched.

"Daaaaaddy!" all while his little hands reached of him for protection.

No.

His legendary – if he could say so himself, thank you very much – cool could not withstand such torture.

So he pushed the alchemist away forcefully, gauntled hands reaching into the water to pull his tadpole out and oh, for all the gods and goddesses, his baby was so cold and was that a sniffle?

Yes!

Timmy had a sniffle!

These monsters had made his baby Timmy sick!

Barbarians!

"I'm here, baby! Daddy's here!" he cooed, cradling his boy against his chest, all the while letting his fingers caress his ink-black hair. "Don't be afraid, tadpole. I'm here! No one's gonna dissect my baby boy!"

"Daddy!" Timmy cried, clawed little fingers hooking onto his shirt. "Daddy!"

"It's okay, baby," he soothed, rubbing his cheek against his son's. "Everything is going to be okay. We're going home!"

The alchemist, who had landed on his posterior with the strength of Jack's push and the clay whatever that was stared at them in shock. Twin blue eyes wide as they gapped simultaneously.

"Baby… boy?" the clay whatever said slowly, tilting his head to the side.

"It's… your son?" the alchemist asked, mouth hanging open.

"Got a problem with that?" Jack snapped, glaring. So what if his baby looked more like a deformed, monstrous bastard child of a tadpole and a piranha? So what if he was already twenty years old and could comfortably fit in his cupped hands?

Timothy was his baby boy, his pride and joy.

Jack was ready to turn around and jump into the river – sure, of course, that Janet was waiting for them in the water – when he saw the alchemist, one of the most respected men in the whole continent, do something no one else had ever done for poor, old, forgettable Jack.

He bowed low on his knees, forehead touching the floor.

Jack stared.

"I am most terribly sorry, Jack!" the alchemist said firmly, eyes clenched shut. "To think of the atrocity I almost committed. I had no idea and my own arrogance almost made me… I am so sorry."

"Dad?" the clay… child – sure his son was a tadpole, why couldn't an alchemist have a clay kid?- asked hesitantly, eyes wide.

But the alchemist had not moved from his repentant position, shoulders shaking.

"Please, do forgive us, sir," the man begged.

Jack was not important or famous. He was not a legend and would never be feared with the awe the Waynes were.

But he wasn't, also, a cruel man.

He turned his eyes on his son, who was blinking at him with complete and utter trust.

He sighed.

"It was an honest mistake," he said at last, crouching on the floor to get to eye level with the young alchemist. "One I am sure you shall not commit again?"

The younger man raised his face, eyes bright with regret.

"Never," he whispered.

"Well then," Jack smiled his own shy, crooked smile – the one Janet often said Timmy had inherited from him.

The alchemist smiled back at him hesitantly, at the same time as his baby Timmy peeked from his fingers curiously, clawed fingers reaching for the human's bald head.

"Soft," Tim said, blinking.

Jack laughed, completely relaxing his shoulders. The tension of the last three days lessening from his frame.

"As you know, I'm Jack," he said simply. "And this is my son, Tim."

"Hello," Timmy said shyly, waving his small hand.

The alchemist stood then, his cheeks dusted a faint pink.

"Hello Tim," he said simply, shaking Jack's baby's hand with a finger. "I'm Alexander and this is my son Kon."

"Hello, Kon," Tim said, tilting his head in a complete circle.

The clay child approached then, his own smile wide.

"Hey Tim."

"Well, Master Alexander," Jack said, shrugging. "What about that pint you mentioned earlier? I'm sure the wife won't mind if Tim and I take a few more hours to get back."

The alchemist preened, relief evident in his expression as he grasped his own son's hand in his own – and yes, Jack was curious, but he was also polite and not about to ask about that – and nodded his acceptance.

"Please, Jack," he said smiling. "Call me Lex."


	10. Feet

"You feeling any better?" Jason asked as he popped himself onto the bed Damian had procured for Tim on their inn, right along the Italian Northern border, hands steadily reaching for a cigarette.

"I'm fine," the merman replied, chin resting onto his folded knees as he cleaned himself with a wet cloth. "Where's Damian?"

Something unnamable passed over the zombie's face. Something uncomfortable and shadowed tim had no name for, before he grinned easily, shoulders shrugging.

"Collapsed in his bed and fast asleep I would assume?" he said finally. "He does tire rather easily."

The merman laughed, shaking his head.

"You forget he is mortal," he mused, smiling. "You are driving him too hard."

"I'm training him the way his father trained me," the zombie shrugged. "And I was far more mortal at the time that he will ever be."

"Their family does seem really… driven?" the merman replied neutrally, running his wet cloth over his arm and scowling at the temperature. "He's training harder since we left Hungary, I hardly see him anymore, much less talk to him. If I didn't know any better I'd say he's avoiding me."

"Shows how much you know," Jason sighed, lighting his cigarette.

"Excuse me?" Tim asked back, eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry," Jason replied. "I'm just nervous. We are going to take on the Demon's Head himself and… you know."

Timothy nodded, sighing.

"There is also that Dark Prince to consider," he murmured, hands clenching. That plan, the slaughter of children, feeding a new heir while having the League to know about him while he is still vulnerable… it's not Al Ghul's style at all."

"You think it's a trap?" the zombie asked, tense. "Do you think he's trying to lure us?"

"Venice is the best place to weaken and split us after all," Tim nodded. "Half of it is littered with holy grounds you cannot cross and the other half is all bridges over canals."

"VENICE!?" Jason snapped, hands grasping Tim's arm and turning him around. "We are going to fucking Venice? Are you out of your mind?!"

Tim blinked, surprised.

"I thought Damian had told you?"

"Of course not!" Jason raged, hands tightening on the merman's arm. "We can't go to Venice. YOU can't go! It's too risky!"

"It's a risk for all of us!" Tim replied, wincing. "You can't go either and you are going anyways!"

"It's different for me and you know it!" the zombie growled, reaching for one of Timothy's legs and pressing the sole of his foot onto the ground, smirking cruelly when the merman yelped in pain. "See?"

Tim glared, sea-blue eyes dark.

"Damian and I made a deal," he huffed, cheeks coloring lightly. "I will fulfill my part to the very end."

"You need to talk to him, damn it!" the zombie replied ardently. "He's running you ragged out of sheer ignorance!"

"I told you I can take it!"

"You can't and it's getting more and more noticeable as days go by! Do you think he'll be fucking happy when you drop dead in the middle of the road?" Jason snarled. "He loves you, you fucking idiot! You'll break him by protecting him from the truth!"

It was as if the spell that had fallen over them was suddenly broken.

All fright seemed to drain from the merman at such words, his tense muscles fell limp and his eyes lost all will to argue as they lowered to the carpeted floor.

"He's just confused," he whispered, free arm wrapping around his own waist. "It's that connection our hearts share. It makes him confuse his feelings with mine."

"You can't be that stupid…" Jason said softly, eyes wide.

"He is confused," Tim insisted, shaking his head. "As soon as this is all over and I have my heart back he will come to his senses, find a pretty girl to mate with and bring his family to the next century."

Jason stared at the merman, his hand still wrapped around the thin, pale ankle, and his thumb was idly caressing the soft skin.

"He will never do that," the zombie assured, letting his knuckles knead Tim's feet. "And even if he did… you wouldn't be alone, you know?"

"If you think I would spend the coming millennia as the Wayne Family's favored Sea Uncle you are sorely mistaken," Tim growled, rolling his eyes. "I might not show it often, but I am jealous creature, possessive to boot."

Jason laughed, thumbs pressing against Tim's ankle bone.

"I meant me, silly," he muttered. "If my godchild is too much of an idiot and leaves, I would gladly take his place and go with you."

Timothy's eyes widened, instantly locking with his.

"Jason, that's not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

They fell into silence. Tim's eyes set on Jason's frame, Jason's set on the foot on his lap, shoulders slumped.

"But as I said… it's just in case…" he muttered finally, cigarette clenched on his front teeth, his finger digging into the arch of Tim's foot.

"Oh, you cheater," the merman moaned involuntarily. "That feels good."

"I'm good with my hands," the zombie grinned unrepentantly. "Points for me?"

"Sure, why not?" Tim replied, arching his back.

"And you will stay away from Venice?" Jason continued, his smile sharp.

Tim closed his eyes, relaxing against the carpet.

"Not a chance in hell," he said, smiling. "I'm going no matter what."

"You stuborn fish, I guess I will have to keep you alive until then," the zombie said finally, standing. "I'll go to town and steal a horse or two, you are not walking to Venice if I can help it."

"Jason…"

The undead shrugged his coat on, not looking at the merman.

"Anything else you might need before I go?" he asked.

Timothy stared at his turned back, feeling immense tenderness clenching at his heart.

He sighed.

"A cane," he said finally. "The strongest you can find… just in case I cannot walk properly once we arrive."

"Consider it done," Jason assured, smiling. "And do me a favor and go check on Damian? He sometimes wakes up and he'll need his rest for tomorrow morning."

Tim nodded, eyes soft.

"Oh, and Tim?" the zombie said as he crossed the door.

"Yes?"

"What I said," Jason hesitated. "I meant every word."

Whatever the merman might have replied, whatever he might have used to try to discourage the other man was lost as Jason disappeared among the shadows and into the streets.

Outside the new moon shone.


	11. Duel

They arrived to the city at the break of dawn, while merchants and other commoners rose from their beds to start their days and the tallest buildings created a plethora of shadows that any enemy could easily hide in.

Damian felt uneasy as he rode his horse – and yes, he had insisted they walk, but his godfather had already procured rides for them and sure, it was less inconspicuous than going on foot, but then again, their enemy already knew they were coming, wasn't he? – into the cobblestone streets, the feeble sunlight of spring doing hardly a thing to warm his skin at the same time as Timothy's ice-cold hands clung to his robes in an effort to keep himself upright on the mount.

The half-ling sighed.

Since their departure from Austria, the merman's usually warm disposition had declined to the point he hardly spoke unless spoken to, and slept most of the night practically clinging to Damian's hand.

His skin had lost its usual pink-ish hue and his eyes were dull, cracked in ways the young hunter had yet to see in any other creature.

The looks Jason was throwing their way throughout the duration of their trip were not helping Damian's anxiety and the nagging knowledge at the back of his head that something was definitely wrong and he was so close – too close – to finding out what, if only he could see a little farther beyond what he already saw.

Yet the answer remained beyond his reach.

He huffed.

"The city is too quiet," Jason hissed, his one working eye surveying the dim streets mistrustfully.

"It is early," Tim reasoned back, his pale hands reaching to pull back his hood from his head and peek through his hair to survey their surroundings.

"We should split," he said softly, his voice a whisper that barely cut through the air.

"Timothy?" Damian asked, turning to stare at the smaller young man.

"They know we are here," Timothy explained, his shaking body slowly lowering itself from the mount. "Most likely expect us to arrive together, attack, if you will."

"And by splitting we would give them a broader target!" Jason protested, easily jumping down from his own horse and wrapping careful arms around the merman's waist to help him to the ground.

"Together we will be sitting ducks," Tim argued back. "We can cover more ground separately. We can even find the lair, and most league members will be going to sleep. They will be weakened by the dawn."

"It does make sense," Damian added, nodding.

The undead seemed to hesitate, his arms still gently wrapped around Timothy.

Damian scowled, knowing that once again this was something that his family was keeping from him.

"I will check the churches," Timothy snapped, removing himself from the undead's embrace. "You could check the piers, Jason."

"Don't you dare use that against m-…"

"I am not doing such a thing," the merman interrupted. "Damian, you are their target, and we all know it. Please keep to the market place and all open areas, it will be harder for them to ambush you there."

Damian raised an eyebrow, amused.

"It makes sense," he agreed, dismounting his horse. Without Timothy holding onto him during the ride, the animal seemed superfluous. "If anything were to happen to you…"

"I'll let you feel my ah… mock-heart?" Timothy promised, a small smile on his tired face.

Jason watched him go with a grimace of both anger and despair. Tim's steps were paused, measured, his hand relying far too much on his cane for comfort.

Tim was dying and he had sworn Jason to secrecy.

He turned to warn his godson to be careful but the half-ling was already gone as well, his zeal pushing the young man to move quicker than usual, his goal so close he could almost taste the Demon's Head's old blood in the morning air.

Jason sighed, walking away himself and making sure he checked every nook and cranny, every single place as close to the waters as possible but never stopped long enough to be spotted by an enemy if the need be.

Just as he was to give another step the burning of his undead skin stopped him, forcing his body backwards with a hiss of pain.

He looked up, scowling when he was met with the grey-brown bricks and ancient vitrals of the church.

"Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari," he read outloud, his frown deepening as he observed the nuns activelly working inside to keep the place clean.

Holy ground.

Most probably sprinkled with the soil of the Holy Land and blessed by the faith of thousands if not millions of the faithful.

The kind of place that would turn him into a handsome pile of ashes should he dare enter, him being undead and all.

He rolled his eyes as he made his way over one of the smaller bridges over the canals to get as far away from the Basilica as possible.

The God of the Humans was not kind to those who refused his heaven.

In between the holy ground that was most likely to incinerate him and all the running canals that easily led to the ocean, he and Tim were close to useless in the city, their movements limited, their abilities stunted.

Damian was then, practically on his own here.

Venice was really the perfect city to hide, and the Demon's Head knew it.

With one last tired sigh, Jason closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer not to any god but to his mentor in the afterlife, hoping Bruce would watch over his son in this time of need and that he would use his legendary stubbornness to keep their resident merman away from the canals and hidden in the narrow pathways that formed the labyrinth that was the city.

He could only hope.

As he furrowed even deeper into his cloak and resigned himself to follow the water for the rest of the day, he never noticed the shadow slowly descending upon him until strong hands had grasped his neck and the blue glow enveloped him.

And then he knew no more.

On his own end, Damian walked the streets with narrowed eyes and tensed shoulders, knowing that at any moment the shadows would leap at him with the face of one of his enemies and try to stop him from completing his mission.

But he couldn't let them.

Not when he was so close.

Not when he had travelled over a year throughout the continent, half of it alone, half with Timothy and his godfather by his side, and he was finally in the one city where his enemy resided.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of moist morning air and imagining the Demon's Head was breathing the same stale dew himself, at that very same moment.

"Not for long," he whispered to himself, a cruel smirk curling his lips. "I swear it to you, Father."

Tonight he was bathing in the dead blood of the Demon Head.

And then…

He stopped.

Then he would become Timothy's sword and shield. He would become his shelter, his home.

He would return Timothy's pearl – his heart – to him and slay whoever had initially taken it from him.

And after that…

His fists clenched.

After that he would either force himself to smile as that amazing creature disappeared into the ocean – away from him, away from his life. Or he would have enough time to convince Timothy to stay by his side even when he was finally able to return to his own home, to his own kind and family.

Did he dare?

As his Godfather had told him, did he have the right to ask that of his merman?

… Was Timothy actually his?

He swallowed, ignoring the way his throat was drying and his body became even tighter with stress.

Timothy was like the tide, swinging from his usual cheerful calmness to that painful melancholy that marked his every step since they'd left the golem back in Prague. His hand that usually wrapped around his arm in sleep now hesitated and kept their distance, his steps were measured, his whole posture one of exhaustion that no matter how many stops Damian's godfather demanded, never changed.

It was as if the merman was slowly inching away from them both, unreachable, unstoppable, like the ocean from which he hailed.

He shook his head.

No, he could not afford to become distracted, not now, not ever now because Timothy and his godfather had worked so hard to bring him here, because his Father had to come first to whatever insecurity he felt plagued by.

Because Timothy was not going to leave him.

Not yet.

And it was then, with his heart once again settled – not yet appeased, but calmer, as it was becoming customary for him – that he noticed the way his own shoulders ached, how his spine felt colder than normal.

How all sounds from the awakening city had ceased to reach him.

His hand reached for his sword, his eyes frantically searched his surroundings for any shadow.

His heart beating madly inside his ribcage was the only hope he felt that at least Timothy would be able to come to his aid.

Finally his gaze landed on the lone figure standing relaxedly over the Ponte de San Nicolo, completely decked in dark robes as green as their glowing eyes.

Those eyes he could remember glowing in the shadows as his house fell apart, as his father screamed his dying words.

"You…" he snarled, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword and the other tight against the sheath.

The man on the bridge smirked like a snake, all fangs and malice.

"I have been waiting for you, Mr. Wayne," he said, his voice a hiss in the air that echoed over something in Damian and made him shudder involuntarily. "But I wasn't sure you would actually dare to face me alone. Did your companions abandon you?"

"Quit the chat, Al Ghul," Damian snapped, his knees flexing.

Ra's Al Ghul laughed, straightening himself and pulling his robe open and over his shoulder, unconcerned.

"Of course, you were never a man of many words," he said simply, as if reminiscent. Slowly, gracefully, he pulled twin swords from behind his back, the metal glinting against the morning sun as he crossed them in front of his chest.

Damian nodded to himself, recognizing the pose as one his Father often taught him against and he decided to prepare his own offensive, as it seemed Ra's Al Ghul wanted a duel. He pulled his own sword from the sheath at his side and rising it to his neck, knowing that the Demon's Head, as a master Vampire, would attack his main arteries first and foremost.

The old Vampire laughed once more, his own shoulders relaxing, assessing him.

"You are so predictable," he said, almost fondly. "Then again it is only proper to start a duel with an appropriate position."

Damian did not reply, not caring to indulge in the old vampire's sense of ettiquete as he dashed forward with a snarl of rage, thrusting his sword towards his enemy's and narrowing his blue eyes when he was thwarted by his opponent.

Ra's suddenly seemed to move to the side, a circular movement making one of his blades push Damian back while the other cleanly slashed at his hair, making the half-ling twist his back in an unnatural angle to escape the edge of the sword.

With a clash of steel against steel, both separated and assessed the other once more.

Damian didn't waste a second, forcing his legs to the maximum of their power to propel him over the older man, aiming at his head in a downward cut, but Ra's was faster, once again turning in place to block his attack with one blade and then attack with the other.

And so they continued, Damian attacking with his strength, fueled by his youthful rage, Ra's moving around him gracefully, like a dancing snake before delivering the final strike.

The half-ling had to admire this creature, this vampire that was his grandfather. He had never met him before, but had heard enough from his Father and then Pennyworth to respect and fear the famed Demon's Head.

And now that he was finally face to face with him he understood his fearsome reputation, the respect and awe the old man inspired on his minions and how each and every member of the League of Shadows would die for this man.

And he felt fright.

His father had fought this powerful monster and lost.

His Father had told him over and over again not to engage the League of Shadows on his own.

And now here he was.

Sparks of friction lighting the sweat on his face, his muscles protesting as a blade cut his cheek, his side, his hand.

How he felt he was been toyed with, he was no threat to Ra's.

But how he still had to try because this was the man who destroyed his life and he had sworn.

He swore it to his Father!

Suddenly Ra's Al Ghul's right sword was on his neck, and his left one was deepening on his foot, forcing him to the ground with an agonized scream as he swung his own blade wildly, feeling a small sliver of satisfaction as he caught the older vampire on the forehead and then realizing it was the only blood he would draw, because he was about to die.

He mentally sent a silent prayer to his Father in Heaven, begging the man forgiveness for he had failed to avenge him. And then set his heart to say goodbye to his Timothy, who would most likely be crushed by his early demise and idly wondered whether his godfather would help Timothy return to the ocean in his stead as he closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate.

But, despite his readiness to accept, fate seemed on his side that early spring morning, as a piercing shriek broke the stillness of the city and what seemed to be the whole Rio Dei Tolentini was pushing Ra's Al Ghul off him and slamming his ancient body against the Church of San Nicolo, making the wooden doors protest loudly at the pressure.

Damian gasped, his eyes widening as he managed to hoist himself upwards and turn.

Timothy was standing at the edge of the bridge, his body almost slumped against the stone railing, his face pale and soaked in sweat and his breathing ragged and weakened. Damian could easily tell the only thing holding the merman standing was the wooden staff his Godfather had given him before they left Austria.

"Timothy!" he cried, limping his way towards his companion, his heart shuddering at the pathetic sight.

"Stupid boy," Timothy gasped, reaching with a trembling hand for him. "You should have waited for me."

"Don't move!" Damian snapped, wrapping his uninjured arm around the merman's waist and hoisting him protectively against his side. "What happened to you? Were you attacked as well?"

Timothy stared at him, his pale eyes watery, unreadable and otherworldly as nothing Damian had ever seen, as if the merman could read him in ways he had never before.

He shook his head.

"Don't worry about that," he hissed, as if every word was an effort he was loath to extend. "We need to get out of here."

"So the rumors were true," Ra's snarled at them both as he stood, his body bruised, his clothing torn but mostly intact as he glared at the pair. " I never wanted to believe you could betray me for my own biggest enemy, Principessa."

Timothy glared back, a high-pitched whine low on his throat.

"Don't call me that," he panted, his hand holding onto Damian for balance. "You don't have the right anymore."

"I don't?" the ancient Vampire said, his weapons ready for another attack, his posture tense. "Yet Wayne is deserving of your devotion now? Of your sacrifice?"

Tim coughed, his hand covering his mouth as he struggled to hold himself, feeling secure when Damian tightened his hold over his waist, using his own diminished strength to protect him, his own now broken sword held before them, ready for any movement the Demon's Head could make.

"You broke your oath, Ra's," he snapped, whipping his lips with the back of his hand. "You slaughtered innocents in the one place you knew was sacred for me. Damian has been nothing but honorable while you have become a monster."

Damian felt a bead of sweat roll down his face as he held onto Timothy for dear life, too afraid to aknowledge his beloved's praise yet still cautious of their enemy.

Ra's lowered his blade one at a time.

"…Damian?" he asked, his eyes widening by the second. "Is that what he told you his name was? Principessa, I expected more of you. To be fooled by the likes of Bruce Wayne."

Damian couldn't help himself then, he snarled, feeling his fangs glint in the sun.

"Don't you dare use my father's name, you scum!" he hissed, his grip on his sword tightening. "Not after you murdered him."

Ra's eyes widened, his posture one of open curiosity.

"But I didn't…" he stopped, finally relaxing his tense muscles.

Tim stared at grandfather and grandson, his own eyes widening as he struggled to stand on his own, his hand reaching to rest on Damian's blade pleadingly.

"This is Damian Wayne," he whispered, eyes locked onto Ra's. "He believes the Demon's Head destroyed his home and killed his father a long time ago."

Ra's shook his head, a frown curling his brow.

"I know my daughter had a son with the human Wayne," he admitted. "But I heard he killed the baby and then disappeared. I hadn't heard from Wayne and his kin until I caught whispers of his approaching this city… with you."

Damian's snarl did not diminish.

"Why should I believe you," he growled, his hand reaching for his merman once more. "You deceitful snake, my Father told me not to trust you."

Ra's pursed his lips, the lines of his face making him finally look his age as he sighed.

"If you don't believe me, then believe I have the best interest at heart for Timothy," he said evenly, his eyes narrowing. "I want to believe myself, that you haven't told my grandson you are dying, have you, Principessa?"

Damian's eyes widened, despite all reservations as he turned to watch Timothy's already pale face lose all color, a sliver of sweat rolling down his cheek and getting lost on his collar.

"Timothy?" he asked.

Tim's eyes narrowed.

"You have no right…" he panted.

"Is he saying the truth?" Damian snapped, his hand tight around the merman's arm. "Is he!"

Timothy did not reply, his already weakened body swaying with the effort it took him to keep standing.

"He's melting," Ra's continued, his pose one of non-threatening curiosity.

"Don't…" Tim pleaded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

"He's too close to the waters, so his body is turning into sea foam," the old vampire continued, uncaring. "He has no heart, the ocean punishes his proximity."

Tim felt Damian's hand on his arm tense, the half-ling's claws dig into his shirt and then into his skin as slivers of sea water soaked his clothing. He wanted to tell Damian that Ra's was lying, that he could not be trusted, but he could see the understanding and horror on the younger man's face, the betrayal on his eyes.

He watched as Damian's lips parted, an accusation at the tip of his tongue.

But he never got to hear the treacherous words because the effort, the strain, the sea-air and the months walking on land finally became too much.

And darkness enveloped him.


	12. One

Ra's watched for the third time as Timothy tried to stand on his new, shaking feet, only to let an pained scream escape his tight lips and pummel to the floor in a panting heap of limbs and sweat.

"You need to rest, Timothy," he whispered as he slowly aided the merman into a sitting position. "It has only been a month."

The younger man shook his head, his fins dancing in the air as he moved.

"I can't…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I need to stand, I need to move."

"But…"

"It's not going to get any better, Ra's, I lost my heart and I must be punished accordingly." Tim interrupted, his shaking hands rising to wipe his drooling mouth. "Every step will always be like being stabbed by a red-hot blade, every breath will be as dry as the desert wind. It's never going to get better. I just have to get used to it."

The ancient vampire nodded, his hand aching to comfort the young man.

He knew, of course he knew.

He had been there the moment Timothy tried to stand for the first time and had watched him curl in agony, his tears slowly turning into little pearls as they touched the blood-stained floor. He had watched as Timothy's mother – that deadly, cold, statuesque woman that Ra's had only heard legends of – had entered the room, and how her usually icy façade had disintegrated when the touch of her hand on her child's had turned Timothy's fingers into water.

The message had been clear.

Timothy had lost his heart – had his heart stolen from him – and therefore he would be punished.

He would never be able to approach the ocean or its creatures again.

But also every second on dry land would be agony in itself.

So Ra's had wrapped his arms around his little Principessa and had brought him to his fortress in one of the wealthiest streets of Budapest, had cared for his injuries and forced food down his throat until his beautiful little monster had been strong enough to move again.

"Tell me what you want," he pleaded, his fingers gently caressing the scales on Timothy's cheeks. "Anything and everything I shall provide for you."

Timothy's laughter had been muted, humorless.

"I want revenge on the one who took my heart and my child and my happiness from me," he said, his eyes dead. "I want to hunt them like the animal and for them to know I am coming. I want to deepen my claws in their entrails and bath in their blood as the ocean swallows them whole."

Timothy's slender shoulders shook, his cold skin dull as another tear rolled down his cheek and turned into a small pearl itself.

"I want them to regret ever taking my freedom from me," he finished, his sharp teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

"I will find that person, Principessa," Ra's swore, his hands tightening with resolve. "I will bring whoever did this before you and laugh as they die by your hand."

The merman shook his head.

"Please don't do that," he asked, his own hand reaching for Ra's and removing it from his cheek. "I've been robbed of my home, my freedom and my life. Please don't take this one only thing that is still mine to own."

Ra's swallowed, his eyes locking with the merman's when Timothy finally raised his eyes from the floor.

"Also…" he whispered, the pain in his voice almost palpable. "Whatever I felt for you, My Ancient Ra's, is gone."

"What?" Ra's asked, shaking his head.

"My feelings, my ability to love…" Timothy explained. "They took it when they took my heart. I remember loving you, and I remember loving Richard and my parents, it's like an echo inside of me, but I can't feel it, Ra's. I can't feel much of anything but anger and pain."

"It matters not," Ra's tried to argue, only to be stopped by Timothy's ice-cold fingers on his lips.

"I can't use you like that, Ra's," he whimpered. "And don't say I won't be using you, because we both know I will. I will use your resources and your determination. I will use your armies and your feelings. I will take advantage of your kindness and won't be able to reciprocate it."

The merman continued, his fingers trembling against Ra's skin.

"Eventually you will learn to resent me for not loving you back as I used to, or I will resent your love that I can't feel myself and I don't want that, I would never allow that to happen," he said finally, a tremulous smile on his thin lips. "Which is why I must go alone and promise I will come back when my heart is restored to me."

Ra's shook his head once more, his hands sizing Timothy by the shoulders.

"I can't let you just leave and not do a thing," he protested. "At least aid you in some way."

Timothy nodded.

"Then give me a promise of your own, as a token of what we used to have, what we might have had," he requested. "Promise me that you and your own will not harm innocents in my absence. Promise me you will protect the children of Budapest in my stead."

Whatever the vampire would have liked to ask died in his lips the moment his eyes once more found Timothy's and the heart-break and determination shone through them.

"I promise," he whispered, his own face turning tender. "No child in Budapest shall be harmed under my watch, as I failed to protect your Richard, I shall protect them all from now on."

Timothy nodded, allowing a few more tears roll down his cheeks.

"As long as our oath is kept, I shall return to you with my heart," he whispered.

Ra's watched him use all his strength to once more stand up, biting his lips when Timothy's bony knees threatened to give out on him and when his blood – sea water, there was no more blood running on Timothy's veins – stained his chin from his bitten lips.

In silence, the ancient vampire known as the Demon's Head, watched his beloved walk away from his life.

Ra's watched now as his grandson – the one he had thought dead for almost twenty years, the living image of his proud father – devoured his notes and his books, read all the information he could get his hands on about Timothy's condition, stopping only to curse himself under his breath as he realized what he had caused with his foolishness.

To their right, Timothy slept.

Surrounded by silk and protective runes made of silver and gold he laid, his face as pale as Ra's had last seen it, his hair the same deep black color. The only difference between then and now was the crystalized drop of ruby-red blood that rested against his collarbone, glinting in the dim light whenever Timothy's chest rose as he breathed.

Ra's sighed, feeling suddenly his centuries weighting on him.

It was better to let it all out in one go, he decided, and then let his grandchild make his move.

"Your father and I had an agreement," he said, breaking the stillness in the air around them. "An oath we signed in blood between the two of us."

Damian turned to stare at him, a thousand questions reflected in his deep blue eyes.

Ra's nodded at him.

"We were enemies for years, yes, the Wayne family was my enemy for centuries, but none of them were like your father, none had his prodigious intellect," the ancient vampire continued, taking a seat by the foot of Timothy's bed. "After a few years we realized our little 'war' was futile as he was going to destroy me and I him, so we decided to split the world into territories."

Damian nodded, remembering the colored map on his father's mantle, how he and Alfred warned him never to enter the cities marked with red and to never trade with vampires over there.

"Why was your agreement broken then," he asked, his eyes narrowed. Despite everything he wasn't sure he could trust the Demon's Head.

Ra's sighed.

"My daughter arrived one day, desperate and in tears, claiming she had given birth to a child, a half-ling of her love with one Bruce Wayne," he explained, gesturing to a tall portrait of his daughter Talia. "But Wayne had been horrified and decided to kill the child, abandoning my daughter to her own devices."

"It's a lie," a voice called from the doorway, voice soft and ragged.

"Godfather," Damian said immediately, standing. "Are you unhurt?"

"'m fine," Jason growled, running a hand through Damian's hair. "You and Tim?"

"I'm mostly unharmed," Damian replied, his hand covering his still stinging cheek. "Timothy…"

"Is stable and recuperating as much as possible," Ra's interrupted, approaching them. "It is quite refreshing to see you, Young Mr. Todd."

"I wish I could say the same," Jason growled, taking a step to stand protectively between Ra's and Damian. "Bruce never lover your daughter, she forced the child from him."

Damian noticed how his grandfather's eyes widened and then narrowed in sadness, his shoulders falling into a slump.

"I see," he whispered, his mind obviously whirling with new-found knowledge.

Timothy, however, chose that very same moment to exhale lightly, his eyelids contracting as he tried to regain consciousness.

Effectively breaking the tension that had fallen around the room.

"Timothy!" Damian gasped, diving to grasp the merman's hand in his own and stare worriedly into his pallid face.

"D… Damian?" the other man whispered, his voice a light exhale.

Jason noticed the way Ra's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed when Tim's fingers tightened around Damian's, his eyes lightly opening.

"Let's leave them alone for a while, they will need to talk," he said to the vampire, shaking his head. "I guess you and I can straighten our own versions without bothering them?"

The ancient vampire eyed the undead hunter, seeing his own torments reflected in his teal-colored eye.

"Absolutely," he said, feeling how his strength seemed to abandon him as he followed his former nemesis out of the room.

Neither of them turned to see how Timothy smiled weakly at the half-ling, or how Damian seemed to sag in relief at the sight.

Neither dared.

Damian watched raptly as Timothy's eyes examined his surroundings, how he seemed to read the runes around his bed, to follow every thread of his silk sheets and then settle for their joined hands, his fingers tightening and softening twice.

"Where are we?" he asked, his voice still weakened and breathy.

"An old cellar," Damian replied, allowing his thumb to caress the back of the merman's hand. "Grandfather uses it to hide sometimes, one of the few land-docked buildings available in the city not stationed on holy ground."

"Grandfather…?" Timothy asked, his face reflecting his confusion. "You and Ra's…"

"We've talked a little, apparently my family and his own were both deceived," Damian said, his frown deepening. "If you hadn't interfered when you did, we would have killed eachother."

Tim nodded, his smile widening lightly.

"I'm glad, then," he said. "Jason…."

"With Grandfather," Damian interrupted. "He says he is unharmed, they are comparing their versions of the story."

Timothy nodded once more, his eyes still set on their joined hands and, finally, Damian realized he has been avoiding his eyes the whole time.

"Look at me, Timothy," he ordered, his hand tightening around the other's. "Please."

"I…" Timothy whimpered. "I don't know if I can…"

Damian stared.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I'm ashamed of what you will find if I look into your eyes," the merman replied, his cheeks tinting a slightly darker shade of green. "Because I know that I will lay myself bare to your gaze and I am afraid of your judgment."

The half-ling swallowed thickly, feeling the understanding fall over him heavily until nothing but a complete reflection of his own insecurities laid before him. Timothy was afraid to bare himself to Damian only to have the half-ling find him lacking in any way. He feared the rejection, the disgust.

Just as Damian had been dreading all these months.

He reached with his hand gently, pressing into the merman's trembling chin and slowly bringing their gazes to meet, and he finally realized Tim's eyes were full of tears, his lap already pooling little misshapen pearls as he cried.

"Just tell me why…" he asked, his voice soft. "Please…"

Timothy swallowed, his fins bobbing up and down.

"At first… you were the perfect weapon, the one opportunity I could have for someone to help me achieve my revenge without getting hurt." he began, unable to control his tears. "I was just so full of hatred, so full of rage against the one who had done this to me, who had taken my Richard from me."

Damian nodded, he had assumed as much when they had first met.

Timothy had never been duplituous about his intentions, or so he had thought.

"But…" he prompted.

Timothy lowered his face.

"But I thought that if you knew how… cursed I was, how limited my body was… You would consider me a hindrance instead of an ally and leave me behind." he swallowed. "And I couldn't allow it, I couldn't let you know how much I was going to slow you down."

Damian had to swallow himself, idly remembering the way the dwarf had glared at him when they had left Moscow, his evident surprise when Timothy had refused a horse for their journey. How many other's had spit in his way when they realized they were walking because of his insistence.

Their petty hostility now seemed far less random.

"They all knew," he said, shocked. "All the creatures we encountered in Russia had known about you."

Timothy nodded.

"They did," he agreed. "But I swore them to secrecy the same as I did Jason. I never wanted you to know about this…"

"Because of your need for revenge," Damian stated, his voice dark.

The merman sighed.

"Because of my need for revenge, yes," he nodded. "At least at first."

Damian remained silent.

"By the time we reached Denmark I…" Timothy hesitated. "I realized you would not leave me behind should you know of my…. Disadvantage. But by then I had lied to you for months, I was clearly deceiving you…"

It suddenly dawned on the half-ling the way Timothy's attitude had changed from city to city, how his cold, aloof and mischievous confidence had slowly morphed in a gentle sort of tenderness, a compatible sort of companionship that was just for the two of them.

"You feared my disdain at your apparent betrayal," he deduced, his face constricting.

"Had I had my way, you wouldn't have found out until I had my pearl back, and by then the lie would have been unnecessary," Tim nodded. "I never meant to trick you, I swear, but by the time I was confident enough in your loyalty to the mission I was frightened by the idea of your rejection! I had my heart taken from me once, Damian, all the love and feelings I had once experienced were gone and that I could feel this again, that this warmth would disappear I-"

Damian couldn't tolerate it any longer, couldn't just sit there and watch this wonderful, self-sacrificing creature, this little miracle worker that had become such a crucial part of his life, suffer alone.

He forcefully reached with his hands for Tim's shoulders, sizing his body violently.

And fused their lips together in a kiss that, he hoped, could convey all the feelings, the frustration and the pain that his clumsy words could not.

At first he kept his eyes closed, awaiting the inevitable moment in which Timothy would push him away – because he obviously had to be misinterpreting the merman's words, nothing this wonderful could ever happen to him – so when those slender, clawed fingers slid from his chest in a trembling embrace, sinking themselves in his hair in a weakened effort to pull him closer, to devour him and fuse with him at the same time, he couldn't help himself but open them and lock his gaze with Timothy's icy blue one.

And no words were necessary any more.

The months of secrets and whispered words of muted affection, the pinning and the suffering.

Nothing would be able to touch them anymore.

They were finally one.


End file.
